Whenever you put pen to paper, you must answer a few fundamental questions: Who is doing the talking? Is it you personally? Is it a character you're creating? What should that character's relationship to the audience be? A storyteller? A confessor? Something else?
You write for an instrument — a singer (maybe you) who faces the audience and delivers your words. The point of view you choose controls the relationship between the singer and the audience. It sets the context for your ideas.
You control this choice. You control the singer's role (and, therefore, your audience's relationship to the singer) by choosing between the four possible points of view: third-person narrative, second-person narrative, first-person narrative, and direct address.
Point of view controls our distance from the world of the song. Think of it as a movie camera, allowing the audience to look at the song's world from various distances, from long shots to close-ups. Roughly, it looks like this:
Let's look at the three main points of view: third-person narrative, first-person narrative, and direct address. We'll deal with second-personnarrative separately in chapter twelve.
In third-person narrative, the singer acts as a storyteller who simply directs the audience's attention to an objective world neither the singer nor the audience is a part of. They look together at a third thing, an objective, independent world. If you think in terms of film, this is the long-distance, panoramic view. We, the audience, are simply observing the song's world. We are not participants.
You can tell third person by its pronouns:
Singular |
Plural |
|
Subject: |
he, she, it |
they |
Direct object: |
him, her, it |
them |
Possessive adjective: |
his, her, its |
their |
Possessive predicate: |
his, hers, its |
theirs |
e.g. Possessive adjective: “That is her responsibility.”
Possessive predicate: “The responsibility is hers.”
In third-person narrative, both the singer and the audience turn together to look at the song's world. The singer functions as storyteller or narrator, and the audience observes. Take a look at Buck Ram's “The Great Pretender,” in third-person narrative:
Yes, she's the great pretender
Pretending that she's doing well
Her need is such, she pretends too much
She's lonely but no one can tell
Yes, she's the great pretender
Adrift in a world of her own
She plays the game, but to her real shame
He's left her to dream all alone
Too real is her feeling of make-believe
Too real when she feels what her heart can't conceal
Yes, she's the great pretender
Just laughing and gay like a clown
She seems to be what she's not, you see
She's wearing her heart like a crown
Pretending that he's still around
Imagine watching a singer perform the song. Either gender could sing it, no problem. As an audience, we would look at the pretender along with the singer. Neither we nor the singer participates in the world. Here's another example of third-person narrative:
Sentimental Lady
The sidewalk runs from late day rainfall
Washes scraps of paper up against the grate
Backing up in shallow puddles
Oil floats like dirty rainbows
She hardly seems to notice as she steps across the street
Knows where she's headed for
She goes inside
Shuts the door
Chorus
Sentimental lady
Doesn't mind it when it's raining
Doesn't seem to matter when it ends
Sentimental lady
Sips her tea in perfect safety
Smiles her secret smile and pretends
Polished floors of blonde and amber
Hanging ivies lace her windows smooth and green
Soft inside these graceful patterns
Lost in thought she reads his letters
All that matters kept inside in memories and dreams
Knows where she has to be
Tucked away
Alone and free
Chorus
Sentimental lady
Doesn't mind it when it's raining
Doesn't seem to matter when it ends
Sentimental lady
Sips her tea in perfect safety
Smiles her secret smile and pretends
She made her mind up long ago
Not to look again
Her life was full
She sits content
Knows she's had its best
Chorus
Sentimental lady
Doesn't mind it when it's raining
Doesn't seem to matter when it ends
Sentimental lady
Sips her tea in perfect safety
Smiles her secret smile and pretends
A first-person narrative is also a storytelling mode, but instead of being separate from the action, the singer participates. There is some intimacy here. The audience knows something about the singer, who speaks directly to the audience about other people and events. The other people and events are still at a distance from the audience.
Here are the first-person pronouns:
Singular |
Plural |
|
Subject: |
I |
We |
Direct object: |
me |
us |
Possessive adjective: |
my |
owr |
Possessive predicate: |
mine |
ours |
In a first-person narrative, the first-person pronouns mix with third-person pronouns. There is no you.
The Great Pretender
Oh yes, I'm the great pretender
Pretending that I'm doing well
My need is such, I pretend too much
I'm lonely but no one can tell
Yes, I'm the great pretender
Adrift in a world of my own
I play the game, but to my real shame
He's (or she's) 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 he's (or she's) still around
We, the audience, have some level of intimacy with the singer, but we are still observers to the rest of the song's world. The singer is a participant, revealing something about himself or herself, so the gender of the singer and the pronouns will now make a difference. In film terms, this is the middle-distance shot. Look at this:
Digging for the Line
My daddy loved the greyhounds
Oh he lived to watch 'em run
Breathless as they slow danced past
Like bullets from a gun
Muscles wound like springs of steel
Aching to unwind
Caught up in their rhythm
Daddy swayed in perfect time
Even when the chains of age
Left him weak and blind
He still could feel their rhythm
Digging for the line
Even as a child I knew
The greyhounds never won
Though one of them might finish first
It wasn't why they'd run
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 daddy smiled and made me see
This is what he said to me
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
The narrator tells the story, but includes him/herself in it. In the last verse, daddy is quoted by the narrator while we are allowed to eavesdrop.
Let's see what happens when we change “Sentimental Lady” into first-person narrative:
The sidewalk runs from late day rainfall
Washes scraps of paper up against the grate
Backing up in shallow puddles
Oil floats like dirty rainbows
I hardly seem to notice as I step across the street
I know where I'm headed for
I go inside
I shut the door
Chorus
Sentimental lady
I don't mind it when it's raining
Doesn't seem to matter when it ends
Sentimental lady
I sip my tea in perfect safety
Smile my secret smile and pretend
This sounds odd. She's saying external or descriptive things about herself, like “I hardly seem to notice as I step across the street.” Observations like this are best left to a third-person narrator.
Polished floors of blonde and amber
Hanging ivies lace my windows smooth and green
Soft inside these graceful patterns
Lost in thought I read his letters
All that matters kept inside in memories and dreams
Know where I have to be
Tucked away
Alone and free
Chorus
Sentimental lady
I don't mind it when it's raining
Doesn't seem to matter when it ends
Sentimental lady
I sip my tea in perfect safety
Smile my secret smile and pretend
Again it sounds unnatural for her to say, “Lost in thought I read his letters.” The language is more appropriate from the mouth of an observer than from the mouth of a participant. Finally, the bridge:
I made my mind up long ago
Not to look again
My life was full
I'll sit content
Knowing I've had its best
Chorus
Sentimental lady
I don't mind it when it's raining
Doesn't seem to matter when it ends
Sentimental lady
I sip my tea in perfect safety
Smile my secret smile and pretend
The bridge sounds natural in first person, since she's telling us something about herself we couldn't know from simply looking. Of course, looking into a character's mind is also perfectly appropriate in third-person narrative.
If we really were to make sense of “Sentimental Lady” as a first-person narrative, the perspective would have to shift in several places:
The sidewalk runs from late day rainfall
Washes scraps of paper up against the grate
Backing up in shallow puddles
Oil floats like dirty rainbows
Splashed by cooling raindrops as I step across the street
I know what I'm headed for
Slip inside
Shut the door
Chorus
I'm a sentimental lady
I don't mind it when it's raining
Doesn't really matter when it ends
A sentimental lady
Sipping tea in perfect safety
Tucked away in secret with a friend
I love these floors of blonde and amber
Hanging ivies lace my windows smooth and green
I live inside these graceful patterns
Afternoons I read his letters
All that matters here inside my memories and dreams
I know where I need to be
Tucked away
Alone and free
Chorus
I'm a sentimental lady
I don't mind it when it's raining
Doesn't really matter when it ends
A sentimental lady
Sipping tea in perfect safety
Tucked away in secret with a friend
I made my mind up long ago
Not to look again
My life was full
I sit content
Knowing I've had its best
Chorus
I'm a sentimental lady
I don't mind it when it's raining
Doesn't really matter when it ends
A sentimental lady
Sipping tea in perfect safety
Tucked away in secret with a friend
Okay, so the rewrite could be more elegant. The point is that it works better. The trick is to put yourself in her mind — look from her perspective, and say what comes naturally.
As a further exercise, go back and try changing “Digging for the Line” into a third-person narrative. It's an interesting problem, isn't it? First there's the pronoun problem: you have to make daddy's child she to keep the hes from getting all jumbled together. Instead of:
His daddy loved the greyhounds
Oh he(?) lived to watch 'em run
You have to say:
Her daddy loved the greyhounds
Oh he lived to watch 'em run
Even with that problem solved, you end up with a story about a father telling a story to his daughter. Seems a little complicated:
Her daddy loved the greyhounds
Oh he lived to watch 'em run
Breathless as they slow danced past
Like bullets from a gun
Muscles wound like springs of steel
Aching to unwind
Caught up in their rhythm
He swayed in perfect time
Even when the chains of age
Left him weak and blind
He still could feel their rhythm
Digging for the line
Even as a child she knew
The greyhounds never won
Though one of them might finish first
It wasn't why they'd run
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 her daddy smiled and made her see
What it really means
He said, 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
Daddy told me this story is an acceptable premise for a song, but here's a story about someone telling a story seems more remote. The playwright Henrik Ibsen said, “If you put a gun in Act I, it damn well better go off by the end of the play!” This is more than a principle about effective use of props. It says that you should have a reason for each element in your work. Nothing without its purpose. No duplication of function.
Maybe the daughter is a gun that isn't going off. Let's see what happens if we eliminate her altogether:
Edwin loved the greyhounds
He lived to watch 'em run
Breathless as they slow danced past
Like bullets from a gun
Muscles wound like springs of steel
Aching to unwind
Caught up in their rhythm
He swayed in perfect time
Even when the chains of age
Left him weak and blind
He still could feel their rhythm
Digging for the line
Even as a child he knew
The greyhounds never won
Though one of them might finish first
It wasn't why they ran
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.
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 touched 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?
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.
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