Lyricists that will have to be shot come the revolution

The names of the actual lyricists, as well as the titles of the songs, are omitted; partly to protect the guilty, but mostly because I cannot be bothered to look 'em up – I know more about them now than I ever wanted to, thank you very much. Latest entries on top unless elsewhere.

And on the third hand ...

Mars ain't the kind of place to raise your kids
In fact it's cold as hell
And there's no one there to raise them, if you did
If you did ... what?
Okay, forget that. But honestly, what is this, a bunch of forgotten filler lines? I mean, come on. You wouldn't want to raise your kids on Mars, okay, I can buy that. But apart from the lack of warmth and company, let alone infrastructure, didn't you first consider the rather more problematic absence of such things like water or oxygen, Mr Rocket Man?

A big ego alone isn't enough

They print my message in the Saturday Sun
I had to tell them I ain't second to none
And I told about equality
And it's true either you're wrong or you're right
But if you're thinking about my baby
It don't matter if you're black or white
After a rather unremarkable first verse, the song plunges into hence unforeseen depths with the second one, above. It's not just the gigantic ego in line two, it's mostly how none of the following lines seem to relate to the others, or to the song's subject (what little subject there is, anyway). Some message indeed.
But hey, it does seem to be politically correct, and it has a good dance rhythm. Seems that these days, that's enough for a hit record. Pity – it could've been a great song had its lyrics been given more than half an hour's worth of thought.

So what?

I wonder how, I wonder why
Yesterday you told me 'bout the blue, blue sky
And all that I can see
Is just another lemon tree

I'm turning my head up and down
I'm turning turning, turning, turning, turning around
And all that I can see
Is just a yellow lemon tree
This is a great example for my theory that just because rhythm and rhyme work out okay, a lyric still needn't be good. It's not just the chorus either – the whole bloody song is equally trivial, nonsensical, and pointless. It still doesn't make me puke, but that's just because the rest of it – melody, arrangement, voice – are really rather nice. Pity about the words.

Can't say it any more clearly

Four a.m. in the morning
Carried away by a moonlight shadow
Not only was it 4 a.m., no, it specifically was 4 a.m. in the morning, no other 4 a.m. qualifies. As one might have expected, since there was moonlight. When in doubt, say it thrice. Say it twice more often than needed. Say it three times. It's easier than thinking up something as sophisticated as "four o'clock in the morning".

But it does does matter

I'm a big, big girl
In a big, big world
It's not a big, big thing if you leave me
But I do, do feel
That I do, do will miss you much
What were they thinking? "Do, do feel," okay, for the sake of it – it's not very nice, but I suppose I could have stood it. But "do, do will miss you much"? Oh come on, what is this? A three-year-old's babble?
Heh. Now there's an idea. The voice is rather like it, too.
Update: Some Google results suggest that the offending line actually reads, "That I too, too will miss you much." Not that that's much better.

Nothing to say and too many lines to say it in

I'm afraid of the dark
Especially when I'm in a park
And there's no-one else around
Ooh I get the shivers
I don't want to see a ghost
That's the sight that I feel most –
So far, so bad. Nothing grand, maybe. Bit of unremarkable rhyming, not even quite enough of it if you consider the third and fourth lines, but hey, who cares? Rather unostentatious, sorry: simple words, too, but maybe that's just a buildup to actually saying something?
I'd rather have a piece of toast
And watch the evening news
Oh well. I can dream can't I?
Would someone please stuff some toast down this person's throat until they whistle this melody? Thank you.

Apropos of nothing

Across the street the river runs
Down in the gutter life is slipping away
Let me still exist in another place
Running under cover of a helicopter blade
Some cover indeed. With a lyricist that brilliant, it wouldn't have been a great loss if he'd been brained by that helicopter blade instead.
But wait, that's assuming there's a brain in there. Okay, forget it.

Really really ever really wanted

When you love a woman
You tell her that she's really wanted
When you love a woman you tell her that she's the one
Cause she needs somebody to tell her
That you'll always be together
So tell me have you ever really
Really really ever
loved a woman?
When you hear this chorus, you feel that the guy's really wanted. When you hear this chorus, you call to the taste police. Cause he needs somebody to tell him that there are more words to draw from than "have you ever ever really, really really ever loved a woman?"

I'd rather not picture this

All the men come in these places
And the men are all the same
You don't look at their faces
And you don't ask their names

I'm your private dancer, a dancer for money
I'll do what you want me to do
"All the men come in these places?" Excuse me? Well, I suppose some even do, but ... never mind. Whatever happened to coming to somewhere? And just to make things worse: I don't know about you, but me, I'd never shell out cash to a lap dancer that didn't even look at my face, let alone in my eyes. Sheesh.

Don't force it, use a bigger hammer

But it was long ago and it was far away, oh God it seems so very far
And if life is just a highway, then the soul is just a car
And objects in the rear view mirror may appear closer than they are
When I first heard this, I thought, Hey. Now there's an idea. Sure, it's just another one of his overly long, whining, sorry-for-himself pop "ballads", but this everyday phrase put to such good use ... wow.
Later of course I realized (later because our cars here in Germany normally don't have anything written on their mirrors) that the phrase actually goes the opposite way: "Objects in mirror may be closer than they appear", or words to that effect. So this lyricist didn't incorporate the phrase into his work, he bent it to fit. Yuck. Writer may be dumber than he appears.

I'd rather not picture this either

No, Sting won't have to be shot come the revolution, really he won't. But still ...
The streets are wet
The lights have yet
To shed their darkened luster on the scene

My skirt's too short
My tights are run
These new heels are killing me
... but still I keep getting this somewhat nervous feeling in my guts when I picture him in a short skirt, tights, and heels. Sorry. Maybe it's just me. The song's really okay, though. I just wish he'd gotten someone else, preferrably someone female, to sing it.

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Last edited: August 6, 2006