We live in an age when “Boom! Crash!” passes as a good foundation for the lyrics of a hit song. So this young upstart from NZ, Lorde, is quite refreshing in how she treats lyrics as a chance for some poetry set to music.
Maybe she gets it from her mother, a famous poet. I don’t even care if her mom helps write the lyrics, since just about every band these days hires songwriters, choreographers and engineers at the mixboard. You can buy everything and simply show up, if you want.
Here’s the music video, which is interesting:
And below are the lyrics. I like how she flips things, saying a line once, then twisting it the next time. About the only thing to pick on are the “so there” lines, which felt out of place amidst all the imagery and goodness. But it’s a far, far cry from your typical pop song.
TEAM by Lorde
Wait ’til you’re announced
We’ve not yet lost all our graces
The hounds will stay in chains
Look upon Your Greatness and she’ll send the call out
(Send the call out) [15x]
Call all the ladies out
They’re in their finery
A hundred jewels on throats
A hundred jewels between teeth
Now bring my boys in
Their skin in craters like the moon
The moon we love like a brother, while he glows through the room
Dancing around the lies we tell
Dancing around big eyes as well
Even the comatose they don’t dance and tell
[Chorus:]
We live in cities you’ll never see on screen
Not very pretty, but we sure know how to run things
Living in ruins of a palace within my dreams
And you know, we’re on each other’s team
I’m kind of over getting told to throw my hands up in the air, so there
So all the cups got broke shards beneath our feet but it wasn’t my fault
And everyone’s competing for a love they won’t receive
‘Cause what this palace wants is release
[Chorus:]
We live in cities you’ll never see on screen
Not very pretty, but we sure know how to run things
Living in ruins of a palace within my dreams
And you know, we’re on each other’s team
I’m kind of over getting told to throw my hands up in the air
So there
I’m kinda older than I was when I revelled without a care
So there
[Chorus:]
We live in cities you’ll never see on screen
Not very pretty, but we sure know how to run things
Living in ruins of a palace within my dreams
And you know, we’re on each other’s team
We’re on each other’s team
And you know, we’re on each other’s team
We’re on each other’s team
And you know, and you know, and you know
Not because of the lead singer’s epic dreadlocks and facial hair, which I’d argue are less of an Epic Win and more of an Achy Breaky Big Mistakey.
There is no mistaking the genius of this song, though.
The music video may be nothing insanely special, but the actual song and lyrics are haunting and well-done.
Also, do not confuse Counting Crows with the Black Crows, a completely different band. The Black Crows singer dated or married that blonde actress from ALMOST FAMOUS, while the Counting Crows singer dated the blonde actress who was married to Brad Pitt.
Here’s the video in all of it’s ancient, low-res glory:
Now let’s dive into the words.
ROUND HERE
Step out the front door like a ghost
into the fog where no one notices
the contrast of white on white. Oh, this is poetry, and light years beyond the juvenile lyrics of your typical pop song. What a great beginning.
And in between the moon and you
the angels get a better view
of the crumbling difference between wrong and right. He’s not done! More poetry, with moral ambiguity and shades of gray that don’t involve bad TWILIGHT fanfic. Beautiful, and not a single “Oh baby oh baby” in sight.
I walk in the air between the rain
through myself and back again
Where? I don’t know Translation: I am overcome with ennui and existential angst. Or I killed a bottle of Maker’s Mark and wandered outside at 2 a.m. during a thunderstorm. You pick.
Maria says she’s dying
through the door I hear her crying
Why? I don’t know Translation: Women, they confuse me. There is no handbook, and I am not a medical doctor, though college professors who insist upon being addressed as “Doctor” are pretentious nancypants. You’re not a doctor unless you wear a stethoscope and wield a scalpel.
[Chorus:]
Round here we always stand up straight
Round here something radiates Translation: This town has a special something, unlike other towns and all the faceless suburbs where if you dropped somebody in the middle of the strip malls and Applebee’s, they wouldn’t know whether it was the outskirts of Atlanta, Seattle or San Jose, with the same Home Depots and Staples and Taco Bells wherever you go. Our town is unique, in good and bad ways. There also could be radioactive waste coming from an old nuke plants. Not sure yet.
Maria came from Nashville with a suitcase in her hand
she said she’d like to meet a boy who looks like Elvis. Hey, Elvis is still hot.
She walks along the edge of where the ocean meets the land
just like she’s walking on a wire in the circus. Back to poetry! A great line.
She parks her car outside of my house
takes her clothes off
says she’s close to understanding Jesus.
She knows she’s just a little misunderstood.
She has trouble acting normal when she’s nervous Translation: Girl be crazy.
[Chorus:]
Round here we’re carving out our names.
Round here we all look the same.
Round here we talk just like lions
but we sacrifice like lambs.
Round here she’s slipping through my hands Translation: This town is rather homogeneous, with big talkers who cave under pressure, and yes, that’s how you spell homogeneous. It has that many “e’s” for some stupid reason. Also, despite the low bar for normal behavior and courage around here, I’m losing the Crazy Hot Girl, emphasis on crazy.
Sleeping children better run like the wind
out of the lightning dream.
Mama’s little baby better get herself in
out of the lightning. Translation: Maybe I should stop chugging this bottle of Maker’s Mark out in the rain.
She says, It’s only in my head.
She says, Shhh I know it’s only in my head.
But the girl in car in the parking lot
says, “Man you should try to take a shot
can’t you see my walls are crumbling?”
Then she looks up at the building
and says she’s thinking of jumping.
She says she’s tired of life.
She must be tired of something. Translation: This town has worn the girl down so much, she may give me a shot at a relationship, even if it’s only physical. Or she might jump off a building. Flip a coin. Also, girl be CRAZY.
[Chorus:]
Round here she’s always on my mind.
Round here hey man got lots of time.
Round here we’re never sent to bed early
and nobody makes us wait.
Round here we stay up very, very, very, very late. Translation: Though the Crazy Hot Girl is flawed and troubled, I’m haunted by her, so much so that I’m sleepless. Also, there’s no curfew. At all.
I can’t see nothin’, nothin’, round here. Translation: Opportunities in this town are rare.
No, you catch me when I’m falling.
You catch me if I’m falling.
You catch me if I’m falling down on you. Translation: As the great philosopher Cher said, “I’ve got you, babe.”
Oh man I said, “I’m under the gun”
round here. I have no idea what this means and whether this gun is literal or metaphorical. No clue.
Oh man I said, “I’m under the gun”
round here.
And I can’t see nothing, nothing,
round here. Translation: I, too, see the merit in Crazy Hot Girl’s diagnosis of this town as being a hopeless place, and I may consider drowning myself in cases of Marker’s Mark or adopting her plan of swan-diving off a building. Or I’ll write sad songs about it, make bazillions and date hot actresses. Not sure yet.
You know the singer from Frou Frou better under the name Imogen Heap, famous for the song HIDE AND SEEK.
Whatever name she sings under, this song here is not only good, but interesting for writers of all stripes, whether you write mysteries involving British grandmothers and talking cats, movies starring transforming robots from Planet Michael Bay or pop songs for Frankenstein bands put together by Simon Cowell.
Watch and listen, then we’ll dissect the lyrics and notice something useful.
Here are the lyrics, with notes in red.
IT’S GOOD TO BE IN LOVE
I don’t know where to start
Say I’m tired or throw a party
These cucumber eyes are lying the more that i smile about it
And all of my clothes feel like somebody’s old throwaways
I don’t like it
All this is interior monologue. She’s saying what she’s thinking and feeling, and while she’s seriously bummed, it’s all truthful.
It’s good to be in love
It really does suit you
Just like everything
I’m happy you’re in love
‘Cause every color goes where you do
The verses above are straight dialogue, spoken to her lost love. Every word is a HUGE PACK OF LIES.
Hollywood screenwriters say this is real dialogue, because nobody says what they truly mean, especially when they’re hurt.
How do you spot bad dialogue? Look for people saying exactly what they mean and feel.
I’m adoring you
It’s all good
You’re so beautiful
I’m black and blue all over
You’re breaking my flow
How could you know what I’m saying about it
When all of my clothes feel like somebody’s old throwaways
I don’t like it
Oh, this is beautiful. She switches right back to interior monologue, and the truth, tweaking and twisting the first verses. Well played. It’s like a good action movie or thriller novel, with alternating chapters: one from the hero’s POV, one from the villains, back and forth.
It’s good to be in love
It really does suit you
Just like everything
I’m happy you’re in love
‘Cause every color goes where you do
Back to the chorus and straight dialogue. You could argue this is what she’s saying to her lost love and what she’s trying to convince herself of, but either way, there’s tremendous tension here between the inner monologue and the spoken dialogue. Love it.
I feel so powerless
I’ve got to stop it somehow
Oh come on what can i do?
Why’s it happening
How’s it happening without me
Why’s it happening
How’s it happening that he feels it without me
More truth from inner monologue, with the stakes raised.
It’s good to be in love
It really does suit you
Just like everything
I’m happy you’re in love
‘Cause every color goes where you do
Back to the chorus. Is the tension resolved? No. Not at all. And the song is better, and perfectly balanced, because of that.
So this Random Man on the Interwebs — and yes, that line is the modern version of, “A man walks into a bar .. ” — this Random Man, he put a high-def camera on a drone. Then he flew it above a fireworks show, took the drone inside exploding fireworks and set the video it to music.
This video isn’t computer animated. They made the entire thing, screen by screen, with stitches on black cloth.
We’re talking about possibly the first music video created through embroidery, which I can’t even spell. And it’s by a heavy metal band.
Though I’m not a fan of all the various forms of metal (heavy metal, speed metal or even Swedish death metal), this is a unique and creative video that deserves to be seen and taken apart. Interesting. Well done, monsters of metal, whoever you are.
Weeks ago, I saw this video by Australian import (and model) Iggy and was blown away.
And now this song has hit No. 1 on the Billboard charts, and I believe No. 2 is … a song she’s featured on.
Note: don’t get overly worried about the warning at the front of this video. I believe there’s one brief f-bomb, which you’ll probably miss unless you listen hard, and there’s no violence or nudity or whatever. It’s the tamest video I can remember getting tagged like this. Maybe the folks who rate music videos need a middle ground, a PG-13 instead of making everything G or R.
What’s really interesting is why this video works so well. Watch and we’ll talk.
Here’s the thing: the entire music video mocks the movie CLUELESS, start to finish, yet it does it so skillfully that you don’t need to have watched Alicia Silverstone’s magnum opus to get the joke. I bet 80 percent of Iggy’s fans were maybe in first grade back then and wouldn’t know Alicia Silverstone if she ran them over in a silver Mercedes.
But Iggy does it anyway, and her attention to details is glorious. Check out this recap.
Even if you never saw CLUELESS, the video rocks. You can tell she’s making fun of the character she portrays, and everything about high school, but not in a snobby hipster way. She’s having fun the whole time, and that energy comes through. Great job, Iggy – give us more.
Super Cells aren’t what you put into a life-sized version of Optimus Prime — you know, to make him growl lame dialogue to Shia Labooooooof in the latest Michael Bay explosion-fest. (Yes, I know Shia isn’t in the new film, which has Optimus and Marky Mark riding on flying robot dinosaurs to save the world by blowing up a hemisphere or two.)
Super Cells are a type of storm, and when you see this video, you’ll understand why they are truly Super.
Also: what’s the music playing? I believe it’s an instrumental version of Shakira’s single, EMPIRE, and here you go with that music video, which may be worth dissecting later. Do the images make narrative sense by themselves, if you take away the lyrics? Hmm. Do the lyrics make sense if you strip away the video with the burning wedding dress and such? Nah. That may the the problem here. I like the song, though.
It’s no secret why many bands let giant corporations use their songs in advertising: musicians are starving artists. There will always be more talented musicians in the world than money to support them.
So musicians have a few choices. They can work a day job and do gigs on weekends, milk their One Hit Wonder for 20 years, try to make a living on tour — or sell their music for commercials, movies, theme parks, whatever pays the bills. Usually, there is no One Hit Wonder, no tour, no sales to record labels or car commercials. The struggle to pay the bills become a struggle for artistic life or death, because if you’ve got no money, you’ve got no free time to do what you love.
Hey, I sympathize. Artistic purity is great until you have to pay the bills. I think it’s almost easier to make a living writing the words, even as newspapers die off as if an asteroid came to kill the dinosaurs, than to do it plucking a guitar.
This video by Jon Lajoie, now, is crazy funny because you can smell the truth in it.
Well done, Jon and bandmates. I hope a corporation with a sense of humor actually buys the rights to use your song to sell something, anything at all, because you have won the Series of Tubes.
This is a classic song from the late ’70s, and it’s worth talking about for a few reasons.
First, the People of the Village prove that band members don’t need to dress the same, seeing how every other rock and punk band tries to stand out by putting on matching (a) black leather jackets and black guyliner, (b) spandex with long, permed blond locks, possibly paying homage to Heather Locklear or (c) ironic suits and ties worn with red Converse sneakers.
You don’t need to memorize the band members in the Village People because their outfits give you a handy shorthand. Plus it’s more interesting. Even KISS understands this and varied the crazy costumes and makeup enough so fans could dress as their favorite instead of throwing on a generic leather jacket and some mascara to be “you know, somebody from the Flaming Squirrels, maybe the drummer.”
Variety is good, even when it comes to the hairstyles of boy bands, which should be banned by the Music Police.
Second, this song proves the power of third-party validation. That’s a fancy way of saying, “Hey, it’s great that every singer, actor and C-list celebrity talks smack about how great they are, yet their ethos is crazy weak when they do so, seeing how we look sideways at their sincerity and self-interest. What’s far more believable, and effective, is to praise somebody — or something — that doesn’t share your first and last name.”
Instead of singing a song where the Village People brag about how many boats they own, and how their singing is so great that we know there’s life on Mars because there are 17 different Village People superfan clubs in the southern hemisphere of that planet alone, they spend an entire song bragging on this unlikely place: your humble, local Y.
And they make it fun, and memorable. This video gave birth to a little YMCA dance of forming the letters people around the world know.
Why is there an endless supply of cheesy all-boy bands?
The thing is, there always has been, and always will be. Because they are meeting a market demand for a demographic that will never, ever go away: tweenagers. Specifically, tweenage girls.
Smart music moguls know this. They also are smart enough to realize that a bunch of 16 to 20-something boys are far, far more likely to hang around playing Call of Duty for 12 hours a day instead of sweating out dance moves while planning possible world tours.
They also know that a group of good-looking singers, male or female, is inherently more attractive than a single singer. There’s science to this. There’s also the fact that a solo artist means betting against them going to rehab, firing you as their manager, deciding to become a punk rock singer or otherwise turning into the Justin Bieber monster of today and losing all his fans.
But if you’ve got choreographers, songwriters and PR people on staff, then hey, you’ve got a machine, a license to print money, and all you need are some good-looking kids with some talent. And it’s actually not smart to bet everything on what you think is your most talented quartet of boys, because tastes in music are fickle for grownups, much less tweenage girls. If you’ve got a factory capable of cranking out boy bands, the best thing to do is keep on cranking them out, because soon enough, the boys will (a) get too old for your demographic or (b) your best singer will go solo and (c) the band will die.
We saw this with the ’90s with bands. But it’s just as true today. One Direction is a reality-show band put together by Simon Cowell’s machine.
And to be honest, girl bands are the same thing, aimed at the same demographic. Think it’s tweenage boys going to Spice Girl concerts or all these Japanese girl bands? Nope. It’s tweenage girls.
This makes perfect sense. Fans of action movies will show up at the megaplex and buy $9 popcorn whether the hero shooting zombies is a muscled tough guy or a hot-but-tough girl. Genre, not gender, determines audience.
When you get older, and hit college, you start to develop taste and would rather die than get caught listening to a NKOTB song. Instead of becoming popular by following the tweenage herd, you seek popularity by being a hipster who only listens to indie bands nobody’s heard of, bands you adore and then abandon at the first sign of success. THIS IS THE LAW.
So though I enjoy making fun of boy bands (and girl bands) as much as anyone, you have to admire how producers create and package these machines. It takes a village to raise a boy band, and to count all the profits before they implode. But by then, you’re on the next one.
The Red Pen of Doom 