Two people in a chance encounter recently asked me what were my favourite songs – whether something I wrote or from another song-writer – and I was in a hurry and promised to write them a reply, but I lost their email (I hate being late, and I was truly in a hurry), and in my embarrassment I’m hoping to redeem myself today by answering them now via this column
My favourite from my own work is usually the song I’ve just finished writing. That may sound simplistic, but it’s true; it’s true of many writers. It could be that the experience is so recent and the emergence of the song is still very much with you. Also, while some songs come quickly, they can often take months, so having been at it for a while the song looms large for you; hence, perhaps, the affection for it. For example, I recently finished a song inspired by the life of the late Desrey Fox, former Minister of Amerindian Affairs. I had learned about her adherence to her faith and to aspects of Amerindian culture, one of them being the spiritual connection Amerindians have with nature, and that’s what the song is about. It’s Desrey, talking about that natural world ingredient:
Anywhere creek water flows, or the
eagle floats on air,
Anywhere the jaguar shows, I am there.
In every mora tree
the smallest honey bee
in drum and matapee
I am there.
That’s the name of the song ‘I Am There.’ So my favourite work of mine shifts. Right now, it’s ‘I Am There’; last year, at this time, it was ‘Rupununi Man.’
From other writers, however, the list of songs I’m drawn to is pretty fixed. George Harrison’s ‘Something’ (Frank Sinatra called it the greatest love song ever written) and ‘Isn’t It A Pity’ (the Nina Simone version) are on it. Sparrow’s ‘We Passed That Stage’; Elton John’s ‘Don’t Let The Sun Go Down On Me’; Paul Anka’s ‘My Way’; a couple by Lionel Richie and by Seal; some by David Rudder; several by Andrea Bocelli.
It’s a pretty varied list, and some songs come and go, but always close to the very top is a kind of one-time underground song that I bumped into totally by accident. It’s an unusual story, and it goes back about 12 years or so when I was living in Cayman. I’m watching TV and I came across a weird movie, dealing with mysticism and the drug world – not my cup of tea – but just as I was about to move on, there was a song playing in the background, simple vocal and just piano accompaniment, but in an instant the melody had grabbed me. I was riveted. I had never heard the song before, but the tune and the lyrics were beautiful, the singing was soulful, and the piano work fitted in perfectly. It caught me immediately; I had to get this song, but I didn’t know the singer or the title. The movie ended. I’m scanning the credits for the song, and they switch to something else. I’m frantic. Fortunately, I remembered the name of the film, Basquat, and I knew what station it was on; that was a start. It took me almost two weeks, emailing them back and forth, telephoning, getting one runaround after the other, but finally they told me how to get the soundtrack of the movie on CD (another month or so); it was an obscure film recording, it had to be special ordered from a store, so I did; that’s how persistent I was. When I finally listened to the CD of the soundtrack, the song was Leonard Cohen’s ‘Hallelujah’. In that film it was sung by John Cale, but it has been used in well over a dozen films since and, apart from Cohen himself, it has been covered by more than 60 artistes, (Bon Jovi. Celine Dion, K D Lang) and it has become a classic, even though the lyrics are full blown poetry.
The song is a singular piece of pop music; a simple but distinctive composition. As a writer, when you listen to other people’s songs, you can sometimes find a spot where the quality lags, where a different word choice would have improved things, or where the melody has a weak transition. You can’t find those in ‘Hallelujah’. The lyric is powerful throughout, the images sharp and fresh and clear, symbolism is often in play, and the melody is short and tight and it takes you when it soars. It’s an amazing work. There’s a test one can do to rate great songs. Listen to an instrumental version, no singing; in that way if there’s a flaw in the melody you will spot it once the words are not there to distract you. Similarly, if you just write out the lyrics and read them, in silence, no music, any weakness in the words, any contrived image, will immediately show up. (Write down the words of some of today’s pop hits, and you will see what I mean.) When you listen to an instrumental rendition of ‘Hallelujah’ you immediately see you are dealing with a master work; the melody, standing alone, is strong; it evokes tears. Similarly, the words on a page stir you like an old love letter found years after it was written. Each line conveys something important in an original and evocative way. So many years after I first heard it, ‘Hallelujah’ remains at the top of my all-time ballad list; almost every time I hear it, it brings tears; it stirs the soul. There are so many versions of it, but I love the K D Lang one, and there’s one by Alexandra Burke that is very dramatic; they are both on YouTube. The first version I heard, though, in the movie, is by John Cale, and it is still special for me. Cale has his tempestuous side, but on this recording he handles Cohen’s song beautifully, almost cradling the lyrics, and the piano accompaniment is beautifully crafted. I have it on my IPod. I go to it often.
By the way, on my IPod, back of that song, is another favourite of mine: Joe Cocker doing ‘Bye Bye Blackbird’. Different bag, mind you, but great version, too, with those Motown R&B girls in the background, not to mention the soul organ cooking underneath.
So to the two people who brought up this favourite-song subject: aren’t you sorry you asked?
