HOW DO YOU WRITE A SONG?

 I’m often asked, “How do you write a song?”

If you were to ask how to write a play or a novel, two other disciplines that I pursue, I feel confident I could lay out some basic steps that would get you started. But writing songs is still a somewhat mysterious pursuit, for the best songs come when lyrics and music merge, as when the hammer hits the anvil and sparks fly. 

That doesn’t mean that you can’t change one or the other as the song takes shape. Take for instance, Paul McCartney’s classic “Yesterday."

Macker claimed the first words that came to mind for that lovely melody were “Scrambled Eggs.” 

It has a certain ring to it, right? Still, you can be sure the song would not be a classic if he hadn’t changed the title.

Then again, Tony Crane of The Merseybeats, a childhood friend, claimed that if Paul slipped while passing by a piano and struck the ivories when falling, he would have a song written by the time he hit the ground; and as he clambered to his feet and gripped the keys again, he’d have a second song written by the time he arose.

But back to us lesser mortals. One surprising thing that’s always struck me about lyric writers – they rarely draw from - or even glance at poetry.

Lyrics and poetry, though different, are drawn from the same well. And the more poetry you can get into your lyrics – without seeming like a poseur – the better your lyrics will be.

I’ve always admired W.B. Yeats, his perception and sheer craft. The well-regarded Black 47 song, Fanatic Heart was influenced by his short poem, Remorse For Intemperate Speech. 

His forensic appraisal of Ireland’s history led me to delve deeper into the ongoing consequences of Belfast’s troubles.

If this is too highfaluting for you, then look no further than your backyard for inspiration. Brown Eyed Girl, that perennial summer hit, was inspired by Van Morrison’s trips “down in the Hollow” as a boy. Van’s Hollow, now a shrine, contained little more than an overgrown stream that flowed close to his childhood home in rainy East Belfast.

But where does the music come from, says you? Well, it’s all around. The rhythm of railroad trains inspired so many great country songs from the like of Jimmie Rogers and Johnny Cash.

As for New York City, I can almost identify the streets that inspired certain classics of Bob Dylan, Lou Reed, The Ramones, Billie Holiday and Miles Davis. 

It’s in no way necessary to read or write music to create songs – but an understanding of chords, their structure and uses, really helps.

Take Blues, Country, Punk, and many types of Folk, there are accepted forms and chord progressions around which you can base your songs. Robert Johnson, Merle Haggard, The Sex Pistols and Bob Dylan have created masterpieces harnessing such traditions.

Then there’s The Beatles. John Lennon said that every time they learned a new chord, they wrote a song around it. I can testify to that. As a boy I happened upon a well-thumbed Beatles songbook tossed in a neighbor’s garbage. It opened a world of chords to me that I still use.

A well-placed, unexpected chord can send a regular tune careening off into originality. As a simple example, in the key of C instead of using a standard E minor (Em) or A minor (Am) chord, substitute an E Seventh or A seventh.

Ah, the oddness and dichotomy of sevenths! In Rebel Girl, a musical I’m currently writing, in order to capture the thorny uniqueness of Irish-American Margaret Sanger (nee Higgins) I only used sevenths.

And if melancholia or regret is your goal, the Major Seventh is your man. But use this chord form sparingly, for it can smother you in melodrama.

Of course, you don’t need to use any accoutrements. If you hear a melody “in your head,” instantly whistle or hum it into the voice memo of your cellphone.

I did that with at least 10 of the 26 songs of Rebel Girl. Ultimately you’ll have to arrange the melody, but that’s grunt work. Once the sparks have been struck, you’re within sight of the finishing line.

And remember, “Scrambled Eggs” is still available for the using. Now get cracking! And remember, there’s no right or wrong way to write a song.

CELEBRITY SCENE NYC

New York has changed. But great cities are always changing – that’s their nature.

I’m a walker – I do a daily 3 mile walk whenever possible. Strolling through New York is a feast for the senses. I’m always noticing new buildings, new people, new languages, new customs, new rhythms, new beats, new songs.

I’ve never understood why people would wish to cut themselves off behind airpods that  throb with familiar sounds, while the raw originality of New York’s perennially changing song echoes all around them.

Besides, even in these relatively placid times, it’s important to know exactly who is approaching from behind. Such knowledge could save you a trip to an emergency room.

One thing I do miss about current New York is the lack of celebrities hoofing around town.

Not that I miss celebrities themselves, still the random sight of one can enliven your day.

Then again, I don’t even know who celebrities are nowadays. I’m not on Instagram or X, I don’t worship my phone, or even read Page 6 anymore, how lame is that!

Your modern day celebrity is isolated in a giant black SUV, surrounded by security goons and chugging along at 2mph in this forever clogged city.

I remember back in the 70’s seeing Mick Jagger approach on 57^thStreet in the company of 2 other semi-soused Brits, out for a night on the town. And didn’t the same Mick roar out his bedroom window in the Pierre Hotel at my brother, Jimmy, and his waterproofing crew, when they began pointing the Pierre’s hallowed bricks at 7 in the morning.

On a blizzarding day in the early 80’s, I had to step aside on West Broadway to allow Bob Dylan to leap over a pool of sludgy water. At the time I was so enamored of the man I’d have lugged him across that pool on my back.

Part of the problem may be the lack of bars that attract such characters. In the Bells of Hell you wouldn’t turn sideways to look at a celebrity, the joint was so full of them. Within its smoky walls, you could meet everyone from Norman Mailer to Jimmy Breslin, Joey Ramone to Liam Clancy.

And wouldn’t Joe Strummer arrive solo at Paddy Reilly’s in a checker cab to see Black 47 in the 90’s. Aye, and line up outside with everyone else to hail a taxi home at 6 in the morning when Steve Duggan finally tired of pulling pints.

I almost forgot John Gotti blessed my son Jimmy in his stroller as the Teflon Don emerged from the Ravenite Social Club on Mulberry Street.

I guess New York was cooler back then. We all discreetly noted, but ignored, celebrities.

I did pay full attention to Mr. Gotti, however. In fact, I gravely thanked him for the honor he had bestowed on my kid and moved on quickly for fear a mob war might break out. It would have been hard to explain at home.

In case you think I’m name dropping, ask any New Yorker of a certain vintage about their celebrity sightings and your ears will be ringing by the time you break free.

Few will be able to match the night David Bowie bought Pierce Turner and myself a double brandy each in a club called Hurrah on the Upper West Side.

We were performing our then opus magnum, Adoramus, which we were hoping to turn into a concept album. As usual, cash was in short supply and record companies were not breaking down our door.

We had, however, received some glowing write-ups about the project and had drawn a big crowd. I remember little of the actual gig except we were called back for an encore. As we took the stage someone yelled out, “Suffragette City!”

Being a smartass I replied, “David couldn’t make it tonight but send up a double brandy and we’ll see what we can do.” And with that we broke into our tried and true treatment of the Bowie standard.

Alas, we received no offers to record Adoramus.  But as we were packing our gear, a waiter arrived with 2 large brandies on a silver tray and the message that “Mr. Bowie thoroughly enjoyed Adoramus and your very original version of his song.”

Ah, those were the days when celebrities cruised New York in yellow cabs - and even bought their round.