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is that for better or worse? |
The best rock lyricists are still those who rose to prominence in the '60s: Dylan, Cohen, Morrison and Krieger, Reed, Mitchell, Barrett and Waters, Zappa, Hendrix, Anderson, Sinfield, etc. There have been a few come along since then who are up in that category, but not many.
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frank zappa? okay. sure.
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haha, no kiddin. hendrix's lyrics were better than he got credit for i think, because people always talk about his guitar playing. but alot of his songs were real poetic likes. The morning is dead And the day is, too There's nothing left here to meet me But the velvet moon All my loneliness I have felt today It's like a little more than enough To make a man throw himself away And I continue To burn the midnight lamp Alone Now the smiling portrait of you Is still hangin' on my frowning wall It really doesn't, really doesn't bother me too much at all It's just the ever falling dust That makes it so hard for me to see That forgotten earring layin' on the floor Facing coldly towards the door I continue To burn the midnight lamp Lord, alone Loneliness is such a drag So here I sit to face That same old fire place Gettin' ready for the same old explosion Goin' through my mind And soon enough time will tell, About the circus in the wishing well And someone who will buy and sell for me Someone to toll my bell But I continue To burn the midnight lamp Lord, alone Darlin' can't ya hear me callin' you? So lonely Gonna have to blow my mind Lonely |
Zappa
Muffin man : The muffin man is seated at the table in the laboratory of the utility muffin Research kitchen... reaching for an oversized chrome spoon he gathers an Intimate quantity of dried muffin remnants and brushing his scapular aside Procceds to dump these inside of his shirt... He turns to us and speaks: Some people like cupcakes better. I for one care less for them! Arrogantly twisting the sterile canvas snoot of a fully charged icing Anointment utensil he poots forths a quarter-ounce green rosette (oh ah yuk Yuk... lets try that again...!) he poots forth a quarter-ounce green rosette Near the summit of a dense but radiant muffin of his own design. Later he says: Some people... some people like cupcakes exclusively, while myself, I say There is naught nor ought there be nothing so exalted on the face of gods grey Earth as that prince of foods... the muffin! Girl you thought he was a man But he was a muffin He hung around till you found That he didnt know nuthin Girl you thought he was a man But he only was a-puffin No cries is heard in the night As a result of him stuffin |
at your house the smell of our still living human bodies and oven gas
you pray to nothing out loud two first names and an ampersand embroidered proudly on a kitchen towel you're a beautiful and violent work with a skinny neck of a chinese bird in a fading ancient painting and if you're in heaven waiting you made it there fighting the tightest kite string in a bad storm with lightning and now these few presidents frowning in my pocket can persuade no god to let me let you talk, oh these few presidents frowning in my pocket can persuade no god to let me let you off even though i haven't seen you in years yours is a funeral i'd fly to from anywhere i thought i had a pebble in my sock i pulled it off and shook out a wasp it stumbled out lost, and without a pause i'm stung as i was, still i stomped it i thought, there is no paved street worthy of your perfect scandanavian feet my crooked chinese fingers groped the machinery of your throat and now these few presidents frowning in my pocket can persuade no god to let me let you talk, oh these few presidents drowning in my pocket can persuade no god to let me let you off even though i haven't seen you in years yours is a funeral i'd fly to from anywhere |
and:
Rain is millions of tiny speech bubbles unused The collected breaths of mutes And all our silent exhalations Where we should've put words Or words we had no one to tell Emptied from clouds like clearing horns spit valves Coming back to us now To remind us what we meant to say Or that we meant to say something Coming down and dying In one giant quiet On the streets and cars Huzzled like jewels in girls' hair On the fake wool collar of my bomber jacket And on my glasses and feet Cut 'em deep and weap out loud Just dust and just a hair in your mouth You drink and think you're tonguin' something to shout But it's just dust and just a hair in your mouth And now these empty breaths reflect The feedback of headlights Push leaves and coffee cups To lower altitudes and gutters Rain is confession weather And we become booths of prayer if we let us And now these empty breaths reflect The feedback of headlights Push leaves and coffee cups To lower altitudes and gutters Rain is confession weather |
Zappa was the best of the '60s humourists as far as lyricists go. The Absolutely Free album, in particular, has some great lyrical snapshots of postwar U.S.; 'Brown Shoes Don't Make It' and 'Status Back Baby' are especially good.
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I've said "NO!" several times to myself in the course of this thread. Bright Eyes I can let pass, but Bob Dylan is just shit.
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Now that's just silly, isn't it. |
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I can honestly say that I'm not joking, and that those are great lyrics. |
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By that logic: I have a rhyming dictionary, and a non-sequitur dictionary. I'm also incredibly good at stealing from better writers, and I'm incapable of singing or writing a single chord sequence that's interesting. Can I have an exasperatingly shit but well-paid career forever now please? |
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what subject do you teach again? |
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Have you thought of applying for a job at Vice magazine? ;) PS. When the supergroup that is Cunt finally gets serious, I nominate you to be the Richard Melzer of the group. What's good enough for Blue Oyster Cult is good enough for us, say I. |
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i posted some of cave's lyrics. |
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Actually, I think there are two or three Morrison-penned pieces that are the best, period, untopped by anyone before or since. |
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I would assume the latter. |
I'm fond of a lot Robert Pollard's lyrics. Also, the dudes from Mclusky wrote awesome lyrics. They were genuinely funny too.
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Syd Barrett writes the most interesting lyrics in my opinion
So equally over a valley, a hill wood on quarry stood, each of us crying a velvet curtain of gray mark the blanket where the sparrows play and the trees by the waving corn stranded my legs move the last empty inches to you the softness, the warmth from the weather in suspense mote to a grog - the star a white chalk minds shot together, our minds shot together... |
patti smith's lyrics are awesome lyrics too!
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I don't think Sonic Youth is great with lyrics, but they have some brilliant spots.
She said Jesus had a twin who knew nothing about sin She was laughing like crazy at the trouble I'm in Her light eyes were dancing; she is insane Her brother says she's just a bitch with a golden chain --- I got a catholic block Inside my head I let it play around Iron to gold --- Now he's kicked in the gut, they fucked him up, just enough They got me down on my knees, I kiss his ring, God is love --- I see you shaking in the light, reading the headline news The others they're not quite so bright, you want them to choose you I could almost see your face tonight, singing simple rhythm'n'blues You'll always be a star |
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This is a pretty pointless thing for me to pursue at this point, I'm not going to convince anyone on this matter. Nevertheless... Dylan is the most popular of a very particular form of 'American folk'. Folk is a highly politicised genre, and in popularising it Dylan robbed all the particulars of political lyrics and replaced them with vague non-sequiturs. As I say, there's not much point me mentioning this, and it's ultimately my opinion rather than fact, but I do feel that it's quite a stretch to suggest Dylan did anything original. |
i haven't posted in here because 99.99% of lyrics suck.
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You ought to read 'How Bluegrass Music Destroyed My Life' and you'll understand even more why I can't stand Dylan's lyrics and probably why you can't too. |
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Who by? I'm not particularly inclined to find out more about why I hate something that isn't an issue 99% of my daily life, but I'm going through a heavy bluegrass phase at the moment. Edit: oh, the Fahey book. I'm gonna be all over that like AIDS on antibodies. |
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david berman from the silver jews and david bazan of pedro the lion.
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Haha Bazan. Great lyricist, but it's a pity his voice is like a ceiling fan.
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By the way
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sometimes it's not bad. i kind of like that schlubby 30-something guy singing voice he has going on. but i'm odd. i wish my first post here was like that guy's. hutch harris from the thermals writes some neat lyrics. their last album was a concept about escaping from a christian fascist society, but it's a huge power pop rock album. |
I think I actually used to like Bazan's voice, but I can't stand it anymore. They played something by Pedro on the PA in between sets at a show last night, and I'd never heard the song but I recognized it instantly. I think I cringed before it even registered.
That said, he does write incredible lyrics. I read somewhere that his wife had some serious problems with a couple of his songs (Rapture was one of them that I can remember). That's honest writing. |
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oh, rapture is hard to listen to for me. david is someone i look up to as a writer because i'm never entirely honest- how i write and talk used to be super similar, but just personal events that have been going on are starting to keep it from flowing. i'd love to just pen stuff like that. |
Gibby Haynes' lyrics from the Butthole Surfers' peak period can't be beat, in me humble opinion.
Hiya, schizogirl, how goes it with you? |
i smoke elvis's toenails when i wanna get high
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I'm not a big lyrics person but:
sun city girls jandek captain beefheart gastr del sol old pavement the fall jesus lizard and stereolab Have some good lines. |
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Since I love Fahey more than anybody to have ever existed ever, I should have read this by now but it's really expensive, even used :/ |
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i didn't even think about gibby! good call. i'm well. waiting for everyone to go to bed so i can leave again. how are you, dear? |
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