I called for help first from Irving Berlin, without doubt the most successful popular song writer this country has ever known; then the assistance of phenomenally successful writers of such diverse genius as Charles K. Harris, L. Wolfe Gilbert, Ballard MacDonald, Joe McCarthy, Stanley Murphy, and Anatol Friedland, was asked and freely given. It is from their observations, as well as from my own, that the following elements of the art of whistle-making have been gathered.

Although we are interested only in the lyrics of the popular song, we must first consider the music, for the lyric writer is very often required to write words to music that has already been written. Therefore he must know the musical elements of his problem.

I. Music and Words are Inseparable

Think of any popular song-hit, and while you are recollecting just "how it goes," stand back from yourself and watch your mental processes. The words of the title first pop into your mind, do they not? Then do not you find yourself whistling that part of the music fitted to those words? Conversely, if the music comes into your mind first, the words seem to sing themselves. Now see if the bars of music you remember and whistle first are not the notes fitted to the title.

If these observations are correct, we have not only proof of the inseparable quality of the words and the music of a popular song, but also evidence to which you can personally testify regarding the foundations of lyric-writing.

But first let us hear what Berlin has to say about the inseparable quality of words and music: "The song writer who writes both words and music, has the advantage over the lyric writer who must fit his words to somebody else's music and the composer who must make his music fit someone else's words. Latitude—the mother of novelty—is denied them, and in consequence both lyrics and melody suffer. Since I write both words and music, I can compose them together and make them fit. I sacrifice one for the other. If I have a melody I want to use, I plug away at the lyrics until I make them fit the best parts of my music, and vice versa. "For instance: 'In My Harem' first came to me from the humorous possibility that the Greeks, who at that time were fighting with the Turks, might be the cause of a lot of harems running loose in Turkey. I tried to fit that phrase to a melody, but I couldn't. At last I got a melody; something that sounded catchy; a simple 'dum-te-de-dum.' I had it,

In my harem, In my harem.

"With 'Ragtime Violin' I had the phrase and no music. I got a few bars to fit, then the melody made a six-syllable and then a five-syllable passage necessary. I had it:

Fiddle up! Fiddle up! On your violin.

"The lyric of a song must sing the music and the music sing the words."

Charles K. Harris, who wrote the great popular success, "After the Ball," so far back in the early days of the popular song that some consider this song the foundation of the present business, has followed it up with innumerable successes. Mr. Harris has this to, say on the same point:

"I believe it is impossible to collaborate with anyone in writing a popular song. I don't believe one man can write the words and another the music. A man can't put his heart in another's lyrics or music. To set a musical note for each word of a song is not all—the note must fit the word." But, while Mr. Harris's words should be considered as the expression of an authority, there is also considerable evidence that points the other way. Just to mention a few of the many partnerships which have resulted in numerous successes, there are Williams and Van Alstyne, who followed "Under the Shade of the Old Apple Tree" with a series of hits; Ballard MacDonald and Harry Carroll, who made "On the Trail of the Lonesome Pine" merely the first of a remarkably successful brotherhood; Harry Von Tilzer with his ever varying collaborators, and L. Wolfe Gilbert, who wrote "Robert E. Lee," "Hitchy Koo," and other hits, with Louis Muir, and then collaborated with Anatol Friedland and others in producing still other successes. These few examples out of many which might be quoted, show that two persons can collaborate in writing song-hits, but, in the main, as Mr. Berlin and Mr. Harris say, there are decided advantages when words and music can be done together by one writer.

What is absolutely essential to the writing of songs which will make the nation whistle, may be stated in this principle:

The words and music of a song must fit each other so perfectly that the thought of one is inseparable from the other.

And now before we turn to the essential elements of the words, to which I shall devote the next chapter, permit me to name a few of the elements of popular music that may be helpful to many modern minstrels to know. In fact, these are all the suggestions on the writing of popular music that I have been able to glean from many years of curious inquiry. I believe they represent practically, if not quite, all the hints that can be given on this subject. [1]

[1] Because of the obvious impossibility of adequately discussing syncopation and kindred purely technical elements, ragtime has not been particularly pointed out. The elements here given are those that apply to ragtime as well as to nearly every other sort of popular song.

2. One Octave is the Popular Song Range

The popular song is introduced to the public by vaudeville performers, cabaret singers, and demonstrators, whose voices have not a wide range. Even some of the most successful vaudeville stars have not extraordinary voices. Usually the vaudeville performer cannot compass a range of much more than an octave. The cabaret singer who has command of more than seven notes is rare, and the demonstrator in the department store and the five-and ten-cent store usually has a voice little better than the person who purchases. Therefore the composer of a song is restricted to the range of one octave. Sometimes, it is true, a song is written in "one-one," or even "one-two" (one or two notes more than an octave), but even such "rangey" songs make use of these notes only in the verses and confine the chorus to a single octave. But in the end, the necessity for the composer's writing his song within one octave to make an effective offering for his introducing singers, works out to his advantage. The average voice of an octave range is that possessed by those who buy popular songs to sing at home.

Now here is a helpful hint and another bit of evidence from the music angle, to emphasize the necessity for the perfect fitting of words and music. Let me state it as Berlin did, in an article written for the Green Book Magazine:

3. Melodies Should Go Up on Open Vowels

"Melodies should go up on open vowels in the lyrics—A, I or O. E is half open and U is closed. Going up on a closed vowel makes enunciation difficult."

Experience is the only thing warranted to convince beyond doubt, so test this rule on your own piano. Then take down the most popular songs you have in your collection and measure them by it.

4. Put "Punch" in Music Wherever Possible

As we shall see later, another definition of the popular song-hit might be, "A song with a punch in the lyrics and a punch in the music." Berlin expressed the application to the problem of melody by the following:

"In the 'International Rag,' for example, I got my punch by means of my melody. I used the triplet, the freak, from out of my bag of tricks:

Raggedy melody, Full of originality. 5. Punch is Sometimes Secured by Trick of Repetition

Anatol Friedland, who composed the music of "My Persian Rose," and L. Wolfe Gilbert's "My Little Dream Girl," in discussing this question, said:

"Ten notes may be the secret of a popular song success. If I can make my listeners remember ten notes of a song that's all I ask. Whenever they hear these ten notes played they'll say, 'That's. . .,' and straightway they'll begin to whistle it. This is the music punch, and it depends on merit alone. Now here's one angle of the musical punch trick:

"To make a punch more punchy still, we repeat it at least once, and sometimes oftener, in a song. You may start your chorus with it, repeat it in the middle, or repeat it at the end. Rarely is it repeated in the verse. High-brow composers call it the theme. For the popular song composer, it's the punch. Clever repetition that makes the strain return with delightful satisfaction, is one of the tricks of the trade—as well as of the art of popular music."

6. A Musical Theme Might be Practically the Entire Song

If what Friedland says is so, and you may turn to your well-thumbed pile of music for confirmation, the theme or the punch of popular music may prove the entire song. I mean, that in its final sales analysis, the magic bars are what count. To carry this logical examination still further, it is possible for a popular song to be little more than theme. As a musical theme is the underlying melody out of which the variations are formed, it is possible to repeat the theme so often that the entire song is little more than clever repetitions.

One of the most common methods is to underlay a melody with what E. M. Wickes, [1] one of the keenest popular song critics of today, calls the "internal vamp." This is the keeping of a melody so closely within its possible octave that the variations play around a very few notes. Try on your piano this combination—D, E flat, and E natural, or F natural, with varying tempos, and you will recognize many beginnings of different famous songs they represent. Either the verse of these songs starts off with this combination, or the chorus takes these notes for its beginning. "Sweet Adeline" and "On the Banks of the Wabash" are but two of the many famous songs built on this foundation. Of course, there are other combinations. These few combinations taken together might be considered as the popular idea of "easy music."

[1] Mr. Wickes has been contributing to The Writer's Monthly a series of valuable papers under the general caption, "Helps for Song Writers."

And now it is through the consideration of the importance of the variations of the theme that we may come to an understanding of what, for the want of a better phrase, I shall call unexpected punches.

7. Punches not Suggested by the Theme

The impossibility of adequately pointing out by words the specific examples of what I mean in certain songs makes it necessary for me to direct you back to your own piano. Run over a group of your favorites and see how many musical punches you can find that are not due directly to the theme. Pick out the catchy variations in a dozen songs—you may chance on one or two where the biggest punch is not in the theme. Of course you may trace it all back to the theme, but nevertheless it still stands out a distinct punch in the variation. If you can add this punch to your theme-punch, your song success is assured.

8. Use of Themes or Punches of Other Songs

When Sol P. Levy, the composer of "Memories," the "Dolly Dip Dances," and a score of better-class melodies, shared my office, one of our sources of amusement was seeking the original themes from which the popular songs were made. As Mr. Levy was arranging songs for nearly all the big publishers, we had plenty of material with which to play our favorite indoor sport. It was a rare song, indeed, whose musical parent we could not ferret out. Nearly all the successful popular songs frankly owned themes that were favorites of other days—some were favorites long "before the war."

Berlin's use of "Way down upon the Swanee River"—"played in ragtime"—for a musical punch in "Alexander's Ragtime Band," was not the first free use of a theme of an old favorite for a punch, but it was one of the first honestly frank uses. The way he took Mendelssohn's "Spring Song" and worked it into as daring a "rag" as he could achieve, is perhaps the most delightfully impudent, "here-see-what-I-can-do," spontaneously and honestly successful "lift" ever perpetrated. Berlin has "ragged" some of the most perfect themes of grand opera with wonderful success, but not always so openly. And other composers have done the same thing.

The usual method is to take some theme that is filled with memories and make it over into a theme that is just enough like the familiar theme to be haunting. This is the one secret or trick of the popular song trade that has been productive of more money than perhaps any other.

This lifting of themes is not plagiarism in the strict sense in which a solemn court of art-independence would judge it. Of course it is well within that federal law which makes the copyrightable part of any piece of music as wide open as a barn door, for you know you can with "legal honesty" steal the heart of any song, if you are "clever" enough, and want it. The average popular song writer who makes free use of another composer's melody, doubtless would defend his act with the argument that he is not writing "serious music," only melodies for the passing hour and therefore that he ought to be permitted the artistic license of weaving into his songs themes that are a part of the melodic life of the day. [1] But, although some song writers contend for the right of free use, they are usually the first to cry "stop thief" when another composer does the same thing to them. However, dismissing the ethics of this matter, right here there lies a warning, not of art or of law, but for your own success.

[1] An interesting article discussing the harm such tactics have done the popular song business is to be found over the signature of Will Rossiter in the New York Star for March 1, 1913.

Never lift a theme of another popular song. Never use a lifted theme of any song—unless you can improve on it. And even then never try to hide a theme in your melody as your own—follow Mr. Berlin's method, if you can, and weave it frankly into your music.

Now, to sum up all that has been said on the music of the popular song: While it is an advantage for one man to write both the words and music of a song, it is not absolutely essential; what is essential is that the words and music fit each other so perfectly that the thought of one is inseparable from the other. One octave is the range in which popular music should be written. Melodies should go up on open vowels in the lyrics. A "punch" should be put in the music wherever possible. Punch is sometimes secured by the trick of repetition in the chorus, as well as at the beginning and end. The theme may be and usually is the punch, but in the variations there may be punches not suggested by the theme. Themes, semi-classical, or even operatic, or punches of old favorites may be used—but not those of other popular songs—and then it is best to use them frankly.

To state all this in one concise sentence permit me to hazard the following:

The music-magic of the popular song lies in a catchy theme stated at, or close to, the very beginning, led into clever variations that round back at least once and maybe twice into the original theme, and finishing with the theme—which was a punch of intrinsic merit, made stronger by a repetition that makes it positively haunting.



CHAPTER XXII

THE ELEMENTS OF A SUCCESSFUL LYRIC

One question about song-writing is often asked but will never be settled: Which is more important, the music or the words? Among the publishers with whom I have discussed this question is Louis Bernstein, of Shapiro, Bernstein & Co. He summed up what all the other publishers and song-writers I have known have said:

"A great melody may carry a poor lyric to success, and a great lyric may carry a poor melody; but for a song to become widely popular you must have both a great melody and a great lyric."

This is but another way of stating the fact noted in the preceding chapter, that the words and music of a popular song-hit are indivisible. And yet Mr. Bernstein gives an authoritative reply to the question with which this chapter opens.

Charles K. Harris put it in another way. Referring particularly to the ballad—and to the particular style of ballad that has made him famous—he said:

"The way to the whistling lips is always through the heart. Reach the heart through your lyrics, and the lips will whistle the emotion via the melody. When the heart has not been touched by the lyric, the lips will prove rebellious. They may, indeed, whistle the melody once, even twice, but it takes more than that to make a song truly popular. A catchy tune is not sufficient in itself. It goes far, it is true, but it will not go the entire distance of popularity, or even two-thirds of the distance, unless it is accompanied by a catchy lyric."

You may read into this a leaning toward the lyric, if you like. And it might be better if you did, for you would then realize that your part of a popular song must be as "great" as you can make it. But whatever may be your opinion, it does not alter the fact that both Mr. Harris and Mr. Bernstein have pointed out—catchy words are needed as much as catchy melody. And permit me to say very humbly that personally I have no leaning toward the musical one of the twins: my reason for discussing first the musical elements, is that a lyric writer often is called on to fit words to music, and because an understanding of the musical elements forms a fine foundation for an easy, and therefore a quick, dissection of the popular song—that is all.

I. WHAT A POPULAR SONG LYRIC IS

In its original meaning, a lyric is verse designed to be sung to the accompaniment of music. Nowadays lyrical poetry is verse in which the poet's personal emotions are strongly shown. Popular song-lyrics especially are not only designed to be sung, but are verses that show a great deal of emotion—any kind of emotion. But remember this point: Whatever and how great soever may be the emotion striving for expression, the words designed to convey it do not become lyrics until the emotion is shown, and shown in a sort of verse which we shall presently examine. If you convey emotion, your words may be worth thousands of dollars. If you fail to convey it, they will be only a sad joke.

As illustrations of this vital point, and to serve as examples for the examination of the elements of the popular lyric, read the words of the following famous songs; and while you are reading them you will see vividly how music completes the lyric. Stripped of its music, a popular song-lyric is often about as attractive as an ancient actress after she has taken off all the make-up that in the setting of the stage made her look like a girl. Words with music become magically one, the moving expression of the emotion of their day.

IMPORTANT NOTE

All the popular song lyrics quoted in this volume are copyright property and are used by special permission of the publishers, in each instance personally granted to the author of this book. Many of the lyrics have never before been printed without their music. Warning:—Republication in any form by anyone whosoever will meet with civil and criminal prosecution by the publishers under the copyright law.

ALEXANDER'S RAGTIME BAND

Words and Music by IRVING BERLIN

Oh, ma honey, oh, ma honey, Better hurry and let's meander, Ain't you goin', ain't you goin,' To the leader man, ragged meter man, Oh, ma honey, oh, ma honey, Let me take you to Alexander's grand stand, brass band, Ain't you comin' along?

CHORUS

Come on and hear, come on and hear Alexander's ragtime band, Come on and hear, come on and hear, It's the best band in the land, They can play a bugle call like you never heard before, So natural that you want to go to war; That's just the bestest band what am, honey lamb, Come on along, come on along, Let me take you by the hand, Up to the man, up to the man, who's the leader of the band, And if you care to hear the Swanee River played in ragtime, Come on and hear, come on and hear Alexander's ragtime Band.

Oh, ma honey, oh, ma honey, There's a fiddle with notes that screeches, Like a chicken, like a chicken, And the clarinet is a colored pet, Come and listen, come and listen, To a classical band what's peaches, come now, somehow, Better hurry along.

THE TRAIL OF THE LONESOME PINE

Words by Music by BALLARD MACDONALD HARRY CARROLL

On a mountain in Virginia stands a lonesome pine, Just below is the cabin home, of a little girl of mine, Her name is June, And very very soon, She'll belong to me, For I know she's waiting there for me, 'Neath that old pine tree.

REFRAIN

In the Blue Ridge mountains of Virginia, On the trail of the lonesome pine, In the pale moonshine our hearts entwine, Where she carved her name and I carved mine, Oh, June, like the mountains I'm blue, Like the pine, I am lonesome for you, In the Blue Ridge mountains of Virginia, On the trail of the lonesome pine. I can hear the tinkling water-fall far among the hills, Bluebirds sing each so merrily, to his mate rapture thrills, They seem to say, Your June is lonesome too. Longing fills her eyes, She is waiting for you patiently, Where the pine tree sighs.

WHEN THE BELL IN THE LIGHTHOUSE RINGS DING DONG

Lyric by Music by ARTHUR J. LAMB ALFRED SOLMAN

Just a glance in your eyes, my bonnie Kate, Then over the sea go I, While the sea-gulls circle around the ship, And the billowy waves roll high. And over the sea and away, my Kate, Afar to the distant West; But ever and ever a thought I'll have, For the lassie who loves me best.

REFRAIN

When the bell in the lighthouse rings ding, dong, When it clangs with its warning loud and long, Then a sailor will think of his sweetheart so true, And long for the day he'll come back to you; And his love will be told in the bell's brave song When the bell in the lighthouse rings ding, dong, Ding! Dong! Ding! Dong! When the bell in the lighthouse rings Ding! Dong! Ding! Dong!

For a day is to come, my bonnie Kate, When joy in our hearts shall reign And we'll laugh to think of the dangers past, When you rest in my arms again. For back to your heart I will sail, my Kate, With love that is staunch and true; In storm or in calm there's a star of hope, That's always to shine for you.

SWEET ITALIAN LOVE

Words by Music by IRVING BERLIN TED SNYDER

Everyone talk-a how they make-a da love Call-a da sweet name like-a da dove, It makes me sick when they start in to speak-a Bout the moon way up above. What's-a da use to have-a big-a da moon? What's the use to call-a da dove If he no like-a she, and she no like-a he, The moon can't make them love. But,

CHORUS

Sweet Italian love, Nice Italian love,

You don't need the moon-a-light your love to tell her, In da house or on da roof or in da cellar, Dat's Italian love, Sweet Italian love; When you kiss-a your pet, And it's-a like-a spagette, Dat's Italian love.

Ev'ryone say they like da moon-a da light, There's one-a man up in da moon all-a right, But he no tell-a that some other nice feller Was-a kiss your gal last night. Maybe you give your gal da wedding-a ring, Maybe you marry, like-a me Maybe you love your wife, maybe for all your life, But dat's only maybe. But,

CHORUS

Sweet Italian love, Nice Italian love, When you squeeze your gal and she no say, "Please stop-a!" When you got dat twenty kids what call you "Papa!" Dat's Italian love, Sweet Italian love; When you kiss one-a time, And it's-a feel like-a mine, Dat's Italian love!

OH HOW THAT GERMAN COULD LOVE

Words by Music by IRVING BERLIN TED SNYDER

Once I got stuck on a sweet little German, And oh what a German was she, The best what was walking, well, what's the use talking, Was just made to order for me. So lovely and witty; more yet, she was pretty, You don't know until you have tried. She had such a figure, it couldn't be bigger, And there was some one yet beside.

CHORUS

Oh how that German could love, With a feeling that came from the heart, She called me her honey, her angel, her money, She pushed every word out so smart. She spoke like a speaker, and oh what a speech, Like no other speaker could speak; Ach my, what a German when she kissed her Herman, It stayed on my cheek for a week.

This girl I could squeeze, and it never would hurt, For that lady knew how to squeeze; Her loving was killing, more yet, she was willing, You never would have to say please. I just couldn't stop her, for dinner and supper, Some dishes and hugs was the food; When she wasn't nice it was more better twice; When she's bad she was better than good.

Sometimes we'd love for a week at a time, And it only would seem like a day; How well I remember, one night in December, I felt like the middle of May. I'll bet all I'm worth, that when she came on earth, All the angels went out on parade; No other one turned up, I think that they burned up The pattern from which she was made.

WHEN IT STRIKES HOME

Words and Music by CHARLES K. HARRIS

You sit at home and calmly read your paper, Which tells of thousands fighting day by day, Of homeless babes and girls who've lost their sweet-hearts, But to your mind it all seems far away.

REFRAIN

When it strikes home, gone is the laughter, When it strikes home your heart's forlorn, When it strikes home the tears fall faster, For those dear ones who've passed and gone. And when you hear of brave boys dying, You may not care, they're not your own; But just suppose you lost your loved ones, That is the time when it strikes home. Out on the street, a newsboy crying "Extra," Another ship has gone down, they say; 'Tis then you kiss your wife and little daughter, Give heartfelt thanks that they are safe today.

MY LITTLE DREAM GIRL

Words by Music by L. WOLFE GILBERT ANATOL FRIEDLAND

The night time, the night time is calling me, It's dream-time, sweet dream-time, for you and me. I'm longing, I'm longing to close my eyes, For there a sweet vision lies.

REFRAIN

My little dream girl, You pretty dream girl, Sometimes I seem, girl, to own your heart. Each night you haunt me, By day you taunt me, I want you, I want you, I need you so. Don't let me waken, Learn I'm mistaken, Find my faith shaken, in you, sweetheart. I'd sigh for, I'd cry for, sweet dreams forever, My little dream girl, good-night.

While shadows are creeping through darkest night, In dream-land, sweet dream-land, there's your love-light. It's beaming, it's gleaming, and all for me, Your vision I long to see.

MEMORIES

Lyric by Music by BRETT PAGE SOL. P. LEVY

Oh, those happy days, when first we met, before you said good-bye, You soon forgot, I can't forget, no matter how I try, Those happy hours like incense burn, They're all that's left for me, You took my heart and in return You gave a memory.

Oh, memories, dear memories, of days I can't forget, Dear memories, sweet memories, my eyes with tears grow wet, For like a rose that loves the sun, And left to die when day is done, I gave my all, the heart you won, Sweetheart, I can't forget.

In all my dreams I dream of you, your arms enfold me, dear. Your tender voice makes dreams seem true, your lips to mine are near. But when I turn your kiss to take, You turn away from me, In bitter sadness I awake, Awake to memory.

Oh, memories, dear memories, a face I can't forget, Oh, memories, sweet memories, a voice that haunts me yet, For like a rose that loves the sun, And left to die when day is done, I gave my all, the heart you won, Sweetheart, I can't forget.

PUT ON YOUR OLD GREY BONNET

Words by Music by STANLEY MURPHY PERCY WENRIGHT

On the old farm-house veranda There sat Silas and Miranda, Thinking of the days gone by. Said he "Dearie, don't be weary, You were always bright and cheery, But a tear, dear, dims your eye." Said she, "They're tears of gladness, Silas, they're not tears of sadness, It is fifty years today since we were wed." Then the old man's dim eyes brightened, And his stern old heart it lightened, As he turned to her and said:

CHORUS

"Put on your old grey bonnet with the blue ribbons on it, While I hitch old Dobbin to the shay, And through the fields of clover, we'll drive up to Dover, On our Golden Wedding Day."

It was in the same old bonnet, With the same blue ribbon on it, In the old shay by his side, That he drove her up to Dover, Thro' the same old fields of clover, To become his happy bride. The birds were sweetly singing And the same old bells were ringing, As they passed the quaint old church where they were wed. And that night when stars were gleaming, The old couple lay a-dreaming, Dreaming of the words he said:

THERE'S A LITTLE SPARK OF LOVE STILL BURNING

Words by Music by JOE MCCARTHY FRED FISCHER

There was a fire burning in my heart, Burning for years and for years, Your love and kisses gave that flame a start, I put it out with my tears; You don't remember, I can't forget, That old affection lives with me yet, I keep on longing, to my regret, I know I can't forget.

CHORUS

There's a little spark of love still burning, And yearning down in my heart for you, There's a longing there for your returning, I want you, I do! So come, come, to my heart again, Come, come, set that love aflame, For there's a little spark of love still burning, And yearning for you.

I left you laughing when I said good-bye, Laughing, but nobody knew How much relief I found when I could cry, I cried my heart out for you; I've loved you more than you ever know, Though years have passed I've wanted you so, Bring back the old love, let new love grow, Come back and whisper low:

WHEN I LOST YOU By IRVING BERLIN

The roses each one, met with the sun, Sweetheart, when I met you. The sunshine had fled, the roses were dead, Sweetheart, when I lost you.

CHORUS

I lost the sunshine and roses, I lost the heavens of blue,

I lost the beautiful rainbow, I lost the morning dew; I lost the angel who gave me Summer the whole winter through, I lost the gladness that turned into sadness, When I lost you.

The birds ceased their song, right turned to wrong, Sweetheart, when I lost you. A day turned to years, the world seem'd in tears, Sweetheart, when I lost you.

II. QUALITIES OF THE POPULAR SONG LYRIC

Having read these eleven lyrics of varying emotions, note the rather obvious fact that

1. Most Popular Songs Have Two Verses and One Chorus

I am not now speaking of the "production song," which may have a dozen verses, and as many different catch-lines in the chorus to stamp the one chorus as many different choruses, but only of the popular song. And furthermore, while two different choruses are sometimes used in popular songs, the common practice is to use but one chorus.

Now let us see the reason for a peculiarity that must have struck you in reading these lyrics.

2. A Regular Metre is Rare

Metre is the arrangement of emphatic and unemphatic syllables in verse on a measured plan, and is attained by the use of short syllables of speech varied in different rotations by long syllables. The metrical character of English poetry depends upon the recurrence of similarly accented syllables at short and more or less regular intervals. Let us take this as the definition of what I mean by metre in the few sentences in which I shall use the word.

Among recognized poets there has always been a rather strict adherence to regularity of form. Indeed, at times in the history of literature, poetry, to be considered poetry, had to confine itself to an absolutely rigid form. In such periods it has been as though the poet were presented with a box, whose depth and breadth and height could not be altered, and were then ordered to fill it full of beautiful thoughts expressed in beautiful words, and to fill it exactly, or be punished by having his work considered bad.

In ages past this rigidity of rule used to apply to the song-poet also, although the minstrel has always been permitted more latitude than other poets. To-day, however, the poet of the popular song may write in any measure his fancy dictates, and he may make his metre as regular or as irregular as he wishes. He may do anything he wants, in a song. Certainly, his language need not be either exact or "literary." Practically all that is demanded is that his lyrics convey emotion. The song-poet's license permits a world of metrical and literary sinning. I am not either apologizing for or praising this condition—I am simply stating a proved fact.

3. Irregularity of Metre May Even Be a Virtue

Even without "scanning" the lyrics of the eleven songs you have just read their irregularity of metre is plain. It is so plain that some of the irregularities rise up and smite your ears. This is why some popular songs seem so "impossible" without their music. And the reason why they seem so pleasing with their music is that the music takes the place of regularity with delightful satisfaction. The very irregularity is what often gives the composer his opportunity to contribute melodious punches, for the words of a popular song are a series of catchy phrases. In some cases irregularity in a song may be the crowning virtue that spells success.

4. Regularity and Precision of Rhymes Are Not Necessary

There is no need to point to specific examples of the lack of regularity in the recurrence of rhymes in most of the lyric specimens here printed, or in other famous songs. Nor is there any necessity to instance the obvious lack of precise rhyming. Neither of these poetic qualities has ever been a virtue of the average popular song-poet.

So far as the vital necessities of the popular song go, rhymes may occur regularly or irregularly, with fine effect in either instance, and the rhymes may be precise or not. To rhyme moon with June is not unforgivable. The success of a popular song depends on entirely different bases. Nevertheless, a finely turned bit of rhyming harmony may strike the ear and stand out from its fellows like a lovely symphony of fancy. If you have given any attention to this point of rhyming you can recall many instances of just what I mean.

5. Strive for Regular and Precise Rhyming—If Fitting

If you can be regular and if you can be precise in the use of rhymes in your song-poem, be regular and be precise. Don't be irregular and slovenly just because others have been and succeeded. You will not succeed if you build your lyrics on the faults and not on the virtues of others. The song-poem that gleams like a flawless gem will have a wider and more lasting success—all other things being equal.

On the other hand, it is absolutely fatal to strive for regularity and precision, and thereby lose expression. If you have to choose, choose irregularity and faulty rhymes. This is an important bit of advice, for a song-poem is not criticized for its regularity and precision—it is either taken to heart and loved in spite of its defects, or is forgotten as valueless. As Winifred Black wrote of her child, "I love her not for her virtues, but oh, for the endearing little faults that make her what she is."

6. Hints On Lyric Measures

Reference to the lyrics already instanced will show you that they are written in various measures. And while it is foreign to my purpose to discuss such purely technical points of poetry, [1] permit me to direct your attention to a few points of song measure.

[1] The Art of Versification, by J. Berg Esenwein and Mary Eleanor Roberts—one of the volumes in "The Writer's Library"—covers this subject with a thoroughness it would be useless for me to attempt. Therefore if you wish to take this subject up more in detail, I refer you to this excellent book.

An individual poetic measure is attained by the use of metre in a certain distinct way. Because the normal combinations of the emphatic and the unemphatic syllables of the English language are but five, there are only five different poetic measures. Let us now see how an investigation of the bafflingly unexact measures of our examples will yield—even though their irregular natures will not permit of precise poetic instances—the few helpful hints we require.

(a) The first measure—called by students of poetry the trochaic measure—is founded on the use of a long or emphatic syllable followed by a short or unemphatic syllable, It has a light, tripping movement, therefore it is peculiarly fitted for the expression of lively subjects. One of our examples shows this rather clearly:

' ' ' ' ' There's a little spark of love still burning

Yet this is not a measure that is commonly found in the popular song. Other combinations seem to fit popular song needs quite as well, if not better.

(b) The second measure—called the iambic measure—is the reverse of the first. That is, the short or unemphatic syllable precedes the long or emphatic syllable. "Alexander's Ragtime Band " uses this measure at the beginning of the chorus.

' ' ' ' Come on and hear come on and hear

The first verse of Mr. Harris's song shows this measure even more clearly:

' ' ' ' ' You sit at home and calm ly read your pa per

This second measure, being less sustained in syllabic force, is more easily kept up than the first measure. It is therefore in common use.

(c) The third measure—called the dactylic measure—is formed of a combination of three syllables. Its characteristic is an emphatic syllable followed by two unemphatic syllables, as:

' ' The old oak en buck et

' ' The iron bound buck et

(d) The fourth measure—called by the frighteningly long name of amphibrachic measure—is formed by a short or unemphatic syllable followed by a long or emphatic syllable, which is followed again by another short or unemphatic syllable.

' ' ' I won der who's kiss ing her now

(e) The fifth measure—called anapestic measure—is made up of two short or unemphatic followed by a long or emphatic syllable.

' ' ' When the bell in the light house rings ding dong

All these three-syllabic measures have a quicker movement than the two-syllabic, owing to the greater number of unaccented, unemphatic syllables. They lend themselves to a rushing impetuosity of expression which is the notable characteristic of the popular song. But they are not always regular, even in high-grade poetry. Therefore in the popular song we may look for, and certainly be sure to find, all sorts of variations from the regular forms here given. Indeed, regularity, as has been clearly pointed out, is the exception and not the rule; for few single lines, and, in a still more marked degree, almost no songs, adhere to one measure throughout. Precisely as "apt alliteration's artful aid" may be used or not used as may suit his purpose best, so the song-writer makes regularity of measure subservient to the effect he desires.

However, I give these examples not with a view to the encouragement of either regularity or irregularity. My purpose is to show you what combinations are possible, and to say, as the jockey whispers in the eager ear of the racehorse he has held back so long, "Go to it!" Break every rule you want to—only break a record. As Mr. Berlin said, "I've broken every rule of versification and of music, and the result has often been an original twist. In popular songs a comparative ignorance of music is an advantage. Further, since my vocabulary is somewhat limited through lack of education, it follows that my lyrics are simple."

This is only Berlin's modest way of saying that not one in ten successful song-writers know anything about the art of music, and that very few are well enough educated to err on the side of involved language and write other than simple lyrics. He drew the application as to himself alone, although his native genius makes it less true of him than of many another less gifted. The big point of this observation lies in his emphasis on the fact that

7. Simple Lyrics and Simple Music Are Necessary

Perhaps in Mr. Berlin's statement rests the explanation of the curious fact that nearly all the successful popular song-writers are men who had few educational advantages in youth. Most of them are self-made men who owe their knowledge of English and the art of writing to their own efforts. Conversely, it may also explain why many well-educated persons strive for success in song-writing in vain. They seem to find it difficult to acquire the chief lyric virtue—simplicity.

Not only must the words of a popular song be "easy," but the idea of the lyric must be simple. You cannot express a complex idea in the popular song-form, which is made up of phrases that sometimes seem short and abrupt. And, even if you could overcome this technical difficulty, you would not find an audience that could grasp your complex idea. Remember that a majority of the purchasers of popular songs buy them at the five- and ten-cent store. To sell songs to this audience, you must make your music easy to sing, your words easy to say and your idea simple and plain.

8. Rhythm the Secret of Successful Songs

Being barred from other than the simplest of ways, by his own limitations, his introducers and his market, the song-writer has to depend upon a purely inherent quality in his song for appeal. This appeal is complex in its way, being composed of the lure of music, rhyme and emotion, but when analyzed all the parts are found to have one element in common. This element to which all parts contribute is rhythm.

Now by rhythm I do not mean rhyme, nor metre, nor regularity. It has nothing necessarily to do with poetic measures nor with precision of rhymes. Let me attempt to convey what I mean by saying that the rhythm of a song is, as Irving Berlin said, the swing. To the swing of a song everything in it contributes. Perhaps it will be clearer when I say that rhythm is compounded of the exactness with which the words clothe the idea and with which the music clothes the words, and the fineness with which both words and music fit the emotion. Rhythm is singleness of effect. Yet rhythm is more—it is singleness of effect plus a sort of hypnotic fascination.

And here we must rest as nearly content as we can, for the final effect of any work of art does not admit of dissection. I have shown you some of the elements which contribute to making a popular song popular, and in the next chapter we shall see still others which are best discussed in the direct application of the writing, but even the most careful exposition must halt at the heart of the mystery of art. The soul of a song defies analysis.

9. Where the "Punch" in the Lyric is Placed

Just as it is necessary for a popular song to have a punch somewhere in its music, so it must come somewhere in its lyric. Just what a lyrical punch is may be seen in the chorus of "The Trail of the Lonesome Pine."

In the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, On the trail of the lonesome pine, In the pale moonshine our hearts entwine, Where she carved her name and I carved mine, Oh, June, like the mountains I'm blue, Like the pine, I am lonesome for you! In the Blue Ridge mountains of Virginia, On the trail of the lonesome pine.

The underlined words are plainly the punch lines of this famous song—the most attractive lines of the whole lyric. Note where they are placed—in the chorus, and next to the last lines. Read the chorus of "My Little Dream Girl" and you will find a similar example of punch lines:

I'd sigh for, I'd cry for, sweet dreams forever, My little dream girl, good night.

These, also, are placed next to the last lines of the chorus.

The punch lines of "When it Strikes Home," are found in

And when you hear of brave boys dying, You may not care, they're not your own, But just suppose you lost your loved one That is the time when it strikes home.

Here the punch is placed at the very end of the chorus.

Now test every song on your piano by this laboratory method. You will find that while there may be punch lines at the end of the verses there are nearly always punch lines at the end of the chorus. There must be a reason for this similarity in all these popular songs. And the reason is this: The emphatic parts of a sentence are the beginning and end. The emphatic part of a paragraph is the end. If you have a number of paragraphs, the last must be the most emphatic. This is a common rule of composition founded on the law of attention—we remember best what is said last. The same thing is true of songs. And song-writers are compelled by vaudeville performers to put a punch near the end of their choruses because the performer must reap applause. Thus commerce keeps the song-writer true to the laws of good art. Therefore remember:

The most attractive lines of a popular song must be the last lines, or next to the last lines, of the chorus.

This holds true whether the song is a "sob" ballad or a humorous number. And—strictly adhering to this rule—put a punch, if you can, at the end of each verse. But whether you put a punch at the end of a verse or not, always put a punch close to the end of your chorus.

10. Contrast an Element of the "Punch"

One of the easiest ways of securing the vitally necessary punch lies in contrast. Particularly is this true in humorous songs—it is the quick twist that wins the laughter. But in all songs contrast may form a large part of the punch element.

The ways of securing a contrast are too many to permit of discussion here, but I name a few:

You may get contrast by switching the application as Harris did in:

You may not care, they're not your own, But just suppose you lost your loved one.

Or you may get contrast by changing your metre and using a contrasting measure. While you may do this in the middle of the chorus, it is nearly always done throughout the chorus. I mean that the measure of the chorus is usually different from the measure used in the verse.

And of course when you change the measure of your lyric, the movement of the music changes too. It is in the resulting contrasting melody that lies much of the charm of the popular song.

But, whatever means you use, be sure you have a contrast somewhere in your lyric—a contrast either of subject matter, poetic measure or musical sounds.

11. Love the Greatest Single Element

If you will review all the great song successes of this year and of all the years that are past, you will come to the conclusion that without love there could be no popular song. Of course there have been songs that have not had the element of love concealed anywhere in their lyrics, but they are the exceptions.

If your song is not founded on love, it is well to add this element, for when you remember that the song's reason for being is emotion, and that the most moving emotion in the world is love, it would seem to be a grave mistake to write any song that did not offer this easy bid for favor. If you have not love in your lyrics make haste to remedy the defect.

The ballad is perhaps the one form by which the greatest number of successful song-writers have climbed to fame. It is also one of the easiest types to write. It should seem worth while, then, for the newcomer to make a ballad one of his earliest bids for fame.

12. The Title

The title of a song is the advertising line, and therefore it must be the most attractive in your song. It is the whole song summed up in one line. It may be a single word or a half-dozen words. It is not the punch line always. It is often the very first line of the chorus, but it is usually the last line.

There is little need for constructive thought in choosing a title. All that is necessary is to select the best advertising line already written. You have only to take the most prominent line and write it at the top of your lyrics. Study the titles of the songs in this chapter and you will see how easy it is to select your title after you have written your song.

To sum up: a great lyric is as necessary to the success of a popular song as a great melody, but not more necessary. A lyric is a verse that conveys a great deal of emotion. Most popular songs have two verses and one chorus. A regular metre is rare; irregularity may even be a virtue. The regular occurrence of rhymes and precise rhymes are not necessary—but it is better to strive after regularity and precision. There are five lyrical measures common to all poetry, but you may break every rule if you only break a record. Rhythm—the swing—is the secret of successful songs. Every lyric must have one or more punch lines—which may occur at the end of each verse, but must be found in the last lines of the chorus. Contrast—either of idea, poetic measure or music—is one sure way of securing the punch. Love is the greatest single element that makes for success in a song idea. The one-word standard of popular-song writing is simplicity—music easy to sing, words easy to say, the idea simple and plain.



CHAPTER XXIII

WRITING THE POPULAR SONG

In the preceding chapters we saw how the elements of a popular song are nearly identical in music and in lyrics, no matter how the styles of songs may differ. In this chapter we shall see how these elements may be combined—irrespective of styles—into a song that the boy on the street will whistle, and the hand organs grind out until you nearly go mad with the repetition of its rhythm.

Not only because it will be interesting, but because such an insight will help to a clear understanding of methods I shall ask you to glance into a popular song publisher's professional department.

I. A POPULAR SONG IN THE MAKING

A very large room—an entire floor, usually—is divided into a reception room, where vaudeville and cabaret performers are waiting their turns to rehearse, and half-a-dozen little rooms, each containing a piano. As the walls of these rooms are never very thick, and often are mere partitions running only two-thirds of the way to the ceiling, the discord of conflicting songs is sometimes appalling. Every once in a while some performer comes to the manager of the department and insists on being rehearsed by the writers of the latest song-hit themselves. And as often as not the performer is informed that the writers are out. In reality, perhaps, they are working on a new song in a back room. Being especially privileged, let us go into that back room and watch them at work.

All there is in the room is a piano and a few chairs. One of the chairs has a broad arm, or there may be a tiny table or a desk. With this slender equipment two persons are working as though the salvation of the world depended on their efforts. One of them is at the piano and the other is frowning over a piece of paper covered with pencil marks.

Perhaps the composer had the original idea—a theme for a melody. Perhaps the lyric writer had one line—an idea for a song. It does not matter at all which had the idea originally, both are obsessed by it now.

"Play the chorus over, will you?" growls the writer. Obediently the composer pounds away, with the soft pedal on, and the writer sings his words so that the composer can hear them. There comes a line that doesn't fit. "No good!" they say together.

"Can't you change that bar?" inquires the writer.

"I'll try," says the composer. "Gimme the sheet."

They prop it up on the piano and sing it together.

"Shut up!" says the composer. And the writer keeps still until the other has pounded the offending bar to fit.

Or perhaps the writer gets a new line that fits the music. "How's this?" he cries with the intonation Columbus must have used when he discovered the new world.

"Punk!" comments the composer. "You can't rhyme 'man' with 'grand' and get away with it these days."

"Oh, all right," grumbles the harassed song-poet, and changes both lines to a better rhyme. "I don't like that part," he gets back at the composer, "it sounds like 'Waiting at the Church.'"

"How's this, then?" inquires the composer, changing two notes.

"Fine," says the lyric writer, for the new variation has a hauntingly familiar sound, too elusive to label—is amazingly catchy.

For hours, perhaps, they go on in this way—changing a note here, a whole bar there, revising the lyric every few lines, substituting a better rhyme for a bad one, and building the whole song into a close-knit unity.

At last the song is in pretty good shape. As yet there is no second verse, but the "Boss" is called in and the boys sing him the new song. "Change 'dream' to 'vision'—it sounds better," he says; or he may have a dozen suggestions—perhaps he gives the song a new punch line. He does his part in building it up, and then the arranger is called in.

With a pad of manuscript music paper, and a flying pencil, he jots down the melody nearly as fast as the composer can pound it out on tne piano. "Get a 'lead-sheet' ready as quick as you can, commands the Boss. "We'll try it out tonight."

"Right!" grunts the arranger, and rushes away to give the melody a touch here and there. As often as not, he comes back to tell the composer how little that worthy knows about music and to demand that a note be changed or a whole bar recast to make it easier to play, but at last he appears with a "lead-sheet"—a mere suggestion of the song to be played, with all the discretion the pianist commands—and the composer, the lyric writer and the "Boss" go across the street to some cabaret and try out the new song.

Here, before an audience, they can tell how much of a song they really have. They may have something that is a "winner," and they may see that their first judgment was wrong—they may have only the first idea of a hit.

But let us suppose that the song is a "knock 'em off their seats" kind, that we may get down to the moral of this little narrative of actual happenings. The "pluggers" are called in and bidden to memorize the song. They spend the afternoon singing it over and over again—and then they go out at night and sing it in a dozen different places all over the city. On their reports and on what the "Boss" sees himself as he visits place after place, the decision is made to publish immediately or to work the song over again. It is the final test before an audience that determines the fate of any song. The new song may never be sung again, or tomorrow the whole city may be whistling it.

And now permit me to indicate a point that lies in the past of the song we have seen in process of manufacture: From somewhere the composer gets an idea for a melody—from somewhere the lyric writer gets an idea for a lyric.

But we must put the music of a song to one side and devote our attention to the lyric.

II. POINTS ON SONG BUILDING

1. Sources of Ideas for Song Lyrics

As a popular song becomes popular because it fits into the life of the day and is the individual expression of the spirit of the moment, Charles K. Harris was doubtless right when he said:

"The biggest secret of success, according to my own system, is the following out in songs of ideas current in the national brain at the moment. My biggest song successes have always reflected the favorite emotion—if I may use the word—of the people of the day. How do I gauge this? Through the drama! The drama moves in irregular cycles, and changes in character according to the specific tastes of the public. The yearly mood of the nation is reflected by the drama and the theatrical entertainment of the year. At least, I figure it out this way, and compose my songs accordingly.

"Here are just two instances of my old successes built on this plan: When 'The Old Homestead' and 'In Old Kentucky' were playing to crowded houses, I wrote ''Midst the Green Fields of Virginia' and 'In the Hills of Old Carolina,' and won. Then when Gillette's war plays, 'Held by the Enemy' and 'Secret Service' caught the national eye, I caught the national ear with 'Just Break the News to Mother.' But these are examples enough to show you how the system works."

Irving Berlin said, "You can get a song idea from anywhere. I have studied the times and produced such songs as 'In My Harem' when the Greeks were fleeing from the Turks and the harem was a humorous topic in the daily newspapers. And I have got ideas from chance remarks of my friends. For instance:

"I wrote 'My Wife's Gone to the Country' from the remark made to me by a friend when I asked him what time he was going home. 'I don't have to go home,' he said, 'my wife's gone to the country.' It struck me as a great idea for a title for a song, but I needed a note of jubilation, so I added 'Hooray, Hooray!' The song almost wrote itself. I had the chorus done in a few minutes, then I dug into the verse, and it was finished in a few hours."

L. Wolfe Gilbert wrote "Robert E. Lee" from the "picture lines" in one of his older songs, "Mammy's Shuffiing Dance" and a good old-fashioned argument that he and I had about the famous old Mississippi steamboat. That night when I came back to the office we shared, Gilbert read me his lyric. From the first the original novelty of the song was apparent, and in a few days the country was whistling the levee dance of 'Daddy' and 'Mammy,' and 'Ephram' and 'Sammy,' as they waited for the Robert E. Lee. Had Gilbert ever seen a levee? No—but out of his genius grew a song that sold into the millions.

"Most of our songs come from imagination," said Joe McCarthy. "A song-writer's mind is ever alert for something new. What might pass as a casual remark to an outsider, might be a great idea to a writer. For instance, a very dear young lady friend might have said, 'You made me love you—I didn't want to do it.' Of course no young lady friend said that to me—I just imagined it. And then I went right on and imagined what that young lady would have said if she had followed that line of thought to a climax."

"It's the chance remark that counts a lot to the lyric writer," said Ballard MacDonald. "You might say something that you would forget the next minute—while I might seize that phrase and work over it until I had made it a lyric."

But, however the original idea comes—whether it creeps up in a chance remark of a friend, or the national mood of the moment is carefully appraised and expressed, or seized "out of the air," let us suppose you have an idea, and are ready to write your song. The very first thing you do, nine chances out of ten, is to follow the usual method of song-writers:

2. Write Your Chorus First

The popular song is only as good as its chorus. For whistling purposes there might just as well be no verses at all. But of course you must have a first verse to set your scene and lead up to your chorus, and a second verse to finish your effect and give you the opportunity to pound your chorus home. Therefore you begin to write your chorus around your big idea.

This idea is expressed in one line—your title, your catchy line, your "idea line," if you like—and if you will turn to the verses of the songs reproduced in these chapters you will be able to determine about what percentage of times the idea line is used to introduce the chorus. But do not rest content with this examination; carry your investigation to all the songs on your piano. Establish for yourself, by this laboratory method, how often the idea line is used as a chorus introduction.

Whether your idea line is used to introduce your chorus or not, it is usually wise to end your chorus with it. Most choruses—but not all, as "Put on your Old Grey Bonnet," would suggest—end with the idea line, on the theory that the emphatic spots in any form of writing are at the beginning and the end—and of these the more emphatic is the end. Therefore, you must now concentrate your chorus to bring in that idea line as the very last line.

3. Make the Chorus Convey Emotion

As we saw in the previous chapter, a lyric is a set of verses that conveys emotion. The purpose of the first verse is to lead up to the emotion—which the chorus expresses. While, as I shall demonstrate later, a story may be proper to the verses, a story is rarely told in the chorus. I mean, of course, a story conveyed by pure narrative, for emotion may convey a story by sheer lyrical effect. Narrative is what you must strive to forget in a chorus—in your chorus you must convey emotion swiftly—that is, with a punch.

While it is impossible for anyone to tell you how to convey emotion, one can point out one of the inherent qualities of emotional speech.

4. Convey Emotion by Broad Strokes

When a man rushes through the corridors of a doomed liner he does not stop to say, "The ship has struck an iceberg—or has been torpedoed—and is sinking, you'd better get dressed quickly and get on deck and jump into the boats." He hasn't time. He cries, "The ship's sinking! To the boats!"

This is precisely the way the song-writer conveys his effect. He not only cuts out the "thes" and the "ands" and the "ofs" and "its" and "perhapses"—he shaves his very thoughts down—as the lyrics printed in these chapters so plainly show—until even logic of construction seems engulfed by the flood of emotion. Pare down your sentences until you convey the dramatic meaning of your deep emotion, not by a logical sequence of sentences, but by revealing flashes.

5. Put Your Punch in Clear Words Near the End

And now you must centre all your thoughts on your punch lines. Punch lines, as we saw, are sometimes the entire point of a song—they are what makes a "popular" lyric get over the footlights when a performer sings the song and they are the big factor—together with the music punches—that make a song popular. However lyrical you have been in the beginning of your chorus, you must now summon all your lyrical ability to your aid to write these, the fate-deciding lines.

But note that emotion, however condensed the words may be that express it, must not be so condensed that it is incoherent. You must make your punch lines as clear in words as though you were drawing a diagram to explain a problem in geometry. The effect you must secure is that of revealing clearness.

Be very careful not to anticipate your punch lines. For instance, if Mr. Gilbert had used "All day I sigh, all night I cry," before "I'd sigh for, I'd cry for, sweet dreams forever" in his "My Little Dream Girl," the whole effect would have been lost. As your punch lines must be the most attractive lines, keep them new and fresh, by excluding from the rest of your song anything like them.

If you can put your punch in the very last lines, fine. If you wish to put your punch lines just before the last two lines—in the third and fourth lines from the last—well and good. But it is never wise to put your punch so far from the end that your audience will forget it before you finish and expect something more. It is a good rule to write your punch lines and then end your song.

Having constructed your chorus from a beginning that uses or does not use your idea line, and having by broad strokes that convey emotion developed it into your punch lines, you end your chorus, usually, but not invariably, with your idea line—your title line.

Now you are ready to write your first verse.

6. Make the First Verse the Introduction of the Chorus

If you have characters in your song, introduce them instantly. If you are drawing a picture of a scene, locate it in your first line. If your song is written in the first person—the "you and I" kind—you must still establish your location and your "you and I" characters at once. If you keep in mind all the time you are writing that your first verse is merely an introduction, you will not be likely to drag it out.

(a) Write in impersonal mood—that is, make your song such that it does not matter whether a man or a woman sings it. Thus you will not restrict the wide use of your song. Anyone and everyone can sing it on the stage. Furthermore, it will be apt to sell more readily.

(b) "Tell a complete story" is a rule that is sometimes laid down for popular song-writers. But it depends entirely upon what kind of song you are writing whether it is necessary to tell a story or not. "A story is not necessary," Berlin says, and an examination of the lyrics in the preceding chapter, and all the lyrics on your piano, will bear him out in this assertion.

All you need remember is that your song must express emotion in a catchy way. If you can do this best by telling a story, compress your narrative into your verses, making your chorus entirely emotional.

(c) "Make your verses short" seems to be the law of the popular song today. In other years it was the custom to write long verses and short choruses. Today the reverse seems to be the fashion. But whether you decide on a short verse or a long verse—and reference to the latest songs will show you what is best for you to write—you must use as few words as possible to begin your story and—with all the information necessary to carry over the points of your chorus—to lead it up to the joining lines.

7. Make Your Second Verse Round Out the Story

You have introduced your chorus in your first verse, and the chorus has conveyed the emotion to which the first verse gave the setting. Now in your second verse round out the story so that the repetition of the chorus may complete the total effect of your song.

More than upon either the first verse or the chorus, unity of effect depends upon the second verse. In it you must keep to the key of emotion expressed in the chorus and to the general trend of feeling of the first verse. If your first verse tells a love-story of two characters, it is sometimes well to change the relations of the characters in the second verse and make the repetition of the chorus come as an answer. But, whatever you make of your second verse, you must not give it a different story. Don't attempt to do more than round out your first-verse story to a satisfying conclusion, of which the chorus is the completing end.

And now we have come to

8. The Punch Lines in the Verses

Toward the end of each verse it is customary to place punch lines which are strong enough pictorially to sum up the contents of the verse and round it out into the chorus. In humorous songs, these punch lines are often used as the very last lines, and the first line of the chorus is depended on to develop the snicker into a laugh, which is made to grow into a roar with the punch lines of the chorus. In other words, there are in every song three places where punch lines must be used. The most important is toward the end of the chorus, and the other places are toward the end of the verses.

9. Don'ts for Verse Last-Lines

Don't end your lines with words that are hard to enunciate—there are dozens of them, of which are "met," and most of the dental sounds. Experience alone can teach you what to avoid. But it may be said that precisely the same reason that dictates the use of open vowels on rising notes, dictates that open sounds are safest with which to end lines, because the last notes of a song are often rising notes. This applies with emphatic force, also, to your chorus. Never use such unrhetorical and laugh-provoking lines as the grotesquely familiar "and then to him I did say."

Don't always feel that it is necessary to tell the audience "here is the chorus." Imagination is common to all, and the chorus is predicted by the turn of thought and the "coming to it" feeling of the melody.

III. ASSEMBLING THE SONG

Having gone over your verses and made sure that you have punch lines that rise out of the narrative effect into revealing flashes, and are completed and punched home by the punch lines of the chorus, and having made sure that your lyrics as a whole are the best you can write, you must give thought to the music.

1. The "One Finger Composer's" Aid

If you are the sort of modern minstrel who has tunes buzzing in his head, it is likely that you will have composed a melody to fit your lyrics. The chances are that you know only enough about music to play the piano rather indifferently. Or, you may be an accomplished pianist without possessing a knowledge of harmony sufficient to admit of your setting down your melody in the form of a good piano score. But even if you are only able to play the piano with one finger, you need not despair. There are dozens of well-known popular song composers who are little better off. You may do precisely what they do—you can call to your aid an arranger. This is the first moral I shall draw from the true story with which this chapter begins.

As the composer played over his melody for the arranger to take down in musical notes, you may sing, whistle or play your melody on the piano with one finger, for the arranger to take down your song. All you need give him is the bare outline of your melody. At best it will be but a forecasting shadow of what he will make out of it. From it he will make you a "lead-sheet," the first record of your melody. Then, if you desire, he will arrange your melody into a piano part, precisely identical in form with any copy of a song you have seen. With this piano version—into which the words have been carefully written in their proper places—you may seek your publisher.

For taking down the melody and making an "ink lead-sheet," the arranger will charge you from one to two dollars. For a piano copy he will charge you anywhere from three to ten dollars—the average price is about five dollars.

2. Be Sure Your Words and Music Fit Exactly

Here we may draw the second moral from the little scene we witnessed in the song publisher's room—this is the big lesson of that scene. In a word, successful song-writers consider a song not as a lyric and a melody, but as a composite of both. A successful song is a perfect fusing of both. The melody writer is not averse to having his melody changed, if by changing it a better song can be made. And the successful lyric writer is only too glad to change his words, if a hit can be produced. With the one end in view, they go over their song time after time and change lyrics and melody with ruthless hands until a whistle-making unity rises clear and haunting.

This is what you must now do with your song. You must bend all your energies to making it a perfect blend of words and music—a unity so compressed and so compactly lyrical that to take one little note or one little word away would ruin the total effect.

This is why

3. Purchasing Music for a Song is Seldom Advisable

If you are invited to purchase music for a new song, it is the part of wisdom to refuse—because only in very rare instances has a successful song been the result of such a method. The reason is perfectly plain, when you consider that the composer who offers you a melody for a cash price is interested only in the small lump sum he receives. You are his market. He does not care anything about the market the music must make for itself, first with a publisher and then with the public.

Therefore, no matter how willing a composer may appear to change his melody to fit your song, scan his proposition with a cynical eye. On the surface he will make the music fit, but he would be wasting his time if he worked over your lyric and his music to the extent that a composer who is paid by the ultimate success of a song would have to labor.

It is very much better to take your chances with even an inferior melody maker who is as much interested as you are in a final success. And when you have found a composer, do not quibble about changing your words to fit his music. And don't fear to ask him to change his melody, wherever constant work on the song proves that a change is necessary. It is only by ceaselessly working over both words and melody that a song is turned into a national whistle.

IV. SEEKING A PUBLISHER [1]

[1] The matter under this section would seem to be an integral part of the following Chapter, "Manuscripts and Markets," but it is included in this chapter because some of the points require a discussion too expansive for the general treatment employed in describing the handling of other stage material.

You have written your lyrics, and you have fashioned your melody, or you have found a composer who is anxious to make his melody fit your lyrics so perfectly that they have been fused into a unity so complete that it seems all you have to do to start everybody whistling it is to find a publisher. And so you set about the task.

1. Private Publication Seldom Profitable

While it is perfectly true that there have been many songs that have paid handsome profits from private publication, it is more nearly exact to believe that private publication never pays. Printers and song publishers who make a business of this private trade will often lure the novice by citing the many famous songs "published by their writers." Whenever you see such an advertisement, or whenever such an argument is used in a sales talk, dig right down to the facts of the case. Nine chances out of ten, you will find that the writers are successful popular song publishers—it is their business to write for their own market. Furthermore—and this is the crux of the matter—they have a carefully maintained sales force and an intricate outlet for all their product, which would take years for a "private publisher" to build up. Really, you cannot expect to make any money by private publication, even at the low cost of song-printing these days—unless you are willing to devote all your energies to pushing your song. And even then, the song must be exceptional to win against the better organized competition.

2. Avoid the "Song Poem" Advertiser

It is never my desire to condemn a class even though a majority of that class may be worthy of reproach. Therefore, instead of inveighing against the "song-poem" fakir with sounding periods of denunciation, permit me to state the facts in this way:

The advertisers for song-poems may be divided into two classes. In the first class are publishers who publish songs privately for individuals who have enough money to indulge a desire to see their songs in print. The writer may not intend his song for public sale. He wishes to have it printed so that he may give copies to his friends and thus satisfy his pride by their plaudits. It is to these song-writers that the honest "private publisher" offers a convenient and often cheap opportunity. His dealings are perfectly honest and fair, because he simply acts as a printer, and not as a publisher, for he does not offer to do more than he can perform.

The second class of song-poem advertisers lure writers by all sorts of glowing promises. They tell you how such and such a song made thousands of dollars for its writer. They offer to furnish music to fit your lyrics. They will supply lyrics to fit your music. They will print your song and push it to success. They will do anything at all—for a fee! And I have heard the most pitiful tales imaginable of high hopes at the beginning and bitter disappointment at the end, from poor people who could ill afford the money lost.

These "publishers" are not fair—they are not honest. They make their living from broken promises, and pocket the change with a grin over their own cleverness. Why these men cannot perform what they promise is perfectly plain in the light of all that has been said about the popular song. It does not need repetition here. If you wish to publish your song privately for distribution among your friends, seek the best and cheapest song printer you can find. But if you hope to make your fortune through publication for which you must pay—in which the publisher has nothing to lose and everything to win—take care! At least consider the proposition as a long shot with the odds against you—then choose the fairest publisher you can find.

3. How to Seek a Market for Your Song

But let us hope that you are the sort of song-writer who is anxious to test his ability against the best. You do not care to have your song published unless it wins publication on its merits—and unless you can be reasonably sure of making some money out of it. You aspire to have your song bear the imprint of one of the publishers whose song-hits are well known. To find the names and addresses of such publishers you have only to turn over the music on your piano. There is no need to print individual names here.

But a few words of direction as to the way you should approach your market may be helpful. I quote here the composite opinion of all the well-known song publishers with whom I have talked:

"To find a great song in the manuscripts that come through the mail—is a dream. It is rare that the mail brings one worthy of publication. If I were a song-writer I should not submit my song through the mails. Of course, if I were far from the big markets I should be compelled to. But if I were anywhere near the market I should go right to the publisher and demonstrate the song to him.

"You see, I must be convinced that a song is a winner before I'll gamble my money on its publication. And the only way I can be easily convinced is to be compelled to listen to the song. Naturally, being a song publisher, I think I know a hit when I hear it—I may 'kid' myself into believing I can pick winners, but I can be made to see the possibilities by actual demonstration, where I might 'pass a song up' in manuscript."

Therefore, it would seem wise to offer a song through the mails only when a personal visit and demonstration are impossible. You need not copyright your song, if you send it to a reputable publisher. All you need do is to submit it with a short letter, offering it on the usual royalty basis, and enclose stamps for return, if it is not available. From two to four weeks is the usual time required for consideration.

If you are near a song publisher, the very best thing you can do is to fortify yourself with unassailable faith in your song and then make the publisher listen to you. If you have a song that shows any promise at all, the chances are that you will come out of the door an hour later with a contract.



CHAPTER XXIV

MANUSCRIPTS AND MARKETS

It is in the hope of directing you to your market that this chapter is designed. But there is no form of writing for which it is more difficult to point out a sure market than for vaudeville material. Even the legitimate stage—with its notorious shifting of plans to meet every veering wind—is not more fickle than the vaudeville stage. The reason for this is, of course, to be found in the fact that the stage must mirror the mind of the nation, and the national mind is ever changing. But once let the public learn to love what you have given them, and they will not jilt your offering in a day. The great advantage the writer of vaudeville material today has over every one of his predecessors, lies in the fact that the modern methods of handling the vaudeville business lend him security in the profits of his success.

1. Preparing the Manuscript

(a) The acceptable manuscript forms into which all vaudeville material may be cast may be learned by consulting the examples of the different vaudeville acts given in the appendix to this volume. A moment's examination of them will show you that there is no difference between the manuscript ways of presenting the different acts. All are made up of the names of characters, business and dialogue. Therefore they may all be discussed at the same time.

(b) Have your manuscript typewritten. This suggestion has the force of law. While it would seem self-evident that a manuscript written out in long hand has a mussy appearance, however neat the writing may be, the many hand-written manuscripts I have tried to read suggest the necessity for pointing out this fact. You surely handicap your manuscript by offering it in long hand to a busy producer.

(c) The two recognized methods for the typing of stage manuscripts. First, the entire manuscript is typed in black, blue or purple. Then, after the manuscript is complete, the name of the character above each speech is underlined in red ink, and every bit of business throughout the manuscript is also underlined in red. This method is illustrated below.

[Here, text originally underlined in red appear in all CAPS.]



-36-

ACT II)

GRAVES. Yes. (TURNS TO DICTIONARY) That's all. (ELLEN, THOUGH CURIOUS, CONTINUES READING IN AN UNDERTONE TO HER FATHER, MARLIN AND JOHN. GRAVES OPENS THE DICTIONARY, STARTS AT SIGHT OF THE NOTE, SNATCHES IT UP WITH TREMBLING FINGERS, AND READS IT. HIS FURY RISES. AFTER A PAUSE, CRUMPLING THE NOTE, HE TURNS TO BURTON AND SPEAKS WITH AN EFFORT)

GRAVES. Burton!

(STARTLED BY HIS TONE, THE OTHERS TURN AND REGARD GRAVES CURIOUSLY) BURTON. Yes, sir.

GRAVES. Where's Sam?

BURTON. He went out, sir—-

GRAVES. Went out?

BURTON. Y-yes, sir. About a quarter of an hour ago.

GRAVES. Where to?

BURTON. He didn't say, sir.

(GRAVES TURNS AWAY HELPLESSLY. BURTON LISTENS AND THEN EXITS C. GRAVES WALKS UP AND DOWN, WRINGING HIS HANDS)

MEAD. Anything wrong?

GRAVES (LAMELY) No, no. Don't mind me. Marlin's proposition's all right—-

(PAUSE. SUSAN ENTERS R AND IS TROUBLED AT SIGHT OF GRAVES'S EMOTION)

SUSAN (APPROACHING HIM) Father—-!

GRAVES (UNABLE LONGER TO RESTRAIN HIMSELF) Hell's fire!

MEAD. Christopher!

Second, a typewriter using two colors is employed. The name of the character above each speech is typed in red, and red is used to type the bits of business. The speeches alone are typed in black, blue or purple as the case may be. The following example illustrates this method.



-32-

ACT I)

BOOTH

Heavens! It reads like a fairy tale, doesn't it?

HENRY

I don't know; does it?

BOOTH

Yes; and many thanks. I'll do my best not to let you regret it.—-Only, in the old fairy tale, you know, it always ended with the—-the young man's marrying the—-the rich old geezer's daughter!

HENRY

(CHUCKLING) And I'm the rich old geezer, eh? Well, I mightn't 'a' been half as rich this minute if it wasn't for you!—-Heigho!

(SIZES UP BOOTH) Now, I suppose my cantankerous daughter wouldn't have you, Piercy; not if I said anything to her about it. But if she would—-and you was willin'—-

(HELEN AND BOOTH EXCHANGE ELOQUENT GLANCES)

—-why, you're just about the feller I'd want her to have.

(HELEN DANCES A LITTLE SKIRT DANCE OF DELIGHT BETWEEN THE DOOR L AND THE SCREEN. THEN SHE DARTS INTO THE ADJOINING ROOM, BEING OBSERVED ONLY BY BOOTH)

BOOTH

(WITH SPONTANEITY) Say, Boss, put her there again!

(ANOTHER HANDSHAKE) Do you know, you and I are getting to be better friends



Either of these methods serves the same purpose equally well. The aim is to separate the names and business from the dialogue, so that the difference may be plain at a glance. The use of either of these ways of typing a manuscript is desirable, but not absolutely necessary.

(d) Use a "record ribbon" in typewriting manuscript, because a "copying ribbon " smudges easily and will soil the hands of the reader. Observation of this mechanical point is a big help in keeping a manuscript clean—and respecting the temper of your judge.

(e) Neatness is a prime requisite in any manuscript offered for sale. Be sure that the finished copy is free from erasures and penciled after-thoughts. "Do all your after-thinking beforehand," or have a clean, new copy made.

(f) Re-copy a soiled manuscript as soon as it shows evidence of handling. Keep your "silent salesman" fresh in appearance.

(g) Bind your manuscript in a flexible cover to give it a neat appearance and make it handy to read.

(h) Type your name and address in full on the outside of the cover, and on the first white page. Thus you stamp the manuscript as your act, and it always bears your address in case of loss.

(i) Have your act copyrighted is a bit of advice that would seem needless, but many performers and producers refuse to read an act unless it is copyrighted. The copyright—while it is not as good proof in court as a public performance—is nevertheless a record that on such and such a date the author deposited in the Library of Congress a certain manuscript. This record can be produced as incontrovertible evidence of fact. The view of the performer and the producer is that he wishes to protect the author as much as possible—but himself more. He desires to place beyond all possibility any charge of plagiarism. Therefore, copyright the final version of your act and typewrite on the cover the date of copyright and the serial number.

(j) How to copyright the manuscript of a vaudeville act. Write to the Register of Copyrights, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C., asking him to send you the blank form prescribed by law to copyright an unpublished dramatic composition. Do not send stamps, as it is unnecessary. In addition to the blank you will receive printed instructions for filling it out, and full information covering the copyright process. The fee is one dollar, which includes a certificate of copyright entry. This covers copyright in the United States only; if you desire to copyright in a foreign country, consult a lawyer.

(k) The preparation of a scene plot should not be a difficult task if you will remember that you need merely draw a straight-line diagram—such as are shown in the chapter on "The Vaudeville Stage and its Dimensions"—so as to make your word-description perfectly clear. On this diagram it is customary to mark the position of chairs, tables, telephones and other properties incidental to the action of the story. But a diagram is not absolutely necessary. Written descriptions will be adequate, if they are carefully and concisely worded.

(l) The preparation of property plots and light plots has been mentioned in the chapter on "The Vaudeville Stage and Its Dimensions," therefore they require a word here. They are merely a list of the properties required and directions for any changes of lighting that may occur in the act. For a first presentation of a manuscript, it is quite unnecessary for you to bother about the technical plots (arrangement plans) of the stage. If your manuscript is acceptable, you may be quite sure that the producer will supply these plots himself.

(m) Do not offer "parts" with your manuscript. A "part" consists of the speeches and business indicated for one character, written out in full, with the cues given by the other characters—the whole bound so as to form a handy copy for the actor to study. For instance, there would be four "parts" in a four-people playlet manuscript—therefore you would be offering a producer five manuscripts in all, and the bulk of your material might deter a busy man from reading it carefully. If your manuscript progresses in its sale to the point where parts are desired, the producer will take care of this detail for you. And until you have made a sale, it is a waste of money to have parts made.

2. The Stage Door the Vaudeville Market-Place

Unlike nearly every other specialized business, there is a market in each city of the country for vaudeville material. This market is the stage door of the vaudeville theatre. While it would be unlikely that a dramatist would find a market for a long play at the "legitimate" stage door—although this has happened—there are peculiar reasons why the stage door may be your market-place. A large percentage of vaudeville performers are the owners of their own acts. They buy the material, produce it themselves, and play in it themselves. And they are ever on the lookout for new material.

Not only is there a market at the stage door, but that market changes continually. Without fear of exaggeration it may be said that with the weekly and sometimes semi-weekly changes of the bill in each house, there will in time flow past the stage door nearly all the acts which later appear in vaudeville.

Offering a manuscript at the stage door, however, should not be done without preparation. As you would not rush up to a business man on the street or spring at him when he emerges from his office door, you certainly would not care to give a vaudeville performer the impression that you were lying in wait for him.

(a) The personal introduction is a distinct advantage in any business, therefore it would be an advantage for you to secure, if possible, a personal introduction to the performer. However, you must be as discriminating in choosing the person to make that introduction as you would were you selecting an endorser at a bank. A stage-hand or an usher is likely to do you more harm than good. The "mash notes" they may have carried "back stage" would discount their value for you. The manager of the theatre, however, might arrange an introduction that would be of value. At least he can find out for you if the performer is in the market at the time.

(b) The preliminary letter is never amiss, therefore it would seem advisable to write to the performer for whom you feel sure you have an act that will fit. Make the letter short. Simply ask him if he is in the market for material, state that you have an act that you would like him to read, and close by requesting an appointment at his convenience.

Do not take up his time by telling him what a fine act you have. He does not know you, and if you praise it too highly he may be inclined to believe that you do not have anything worth while. But do not under-rate your material, either, in the hope of engaging his attention by modesty. Leave it for him to find out if you have an act, first, that is worth while, and second, that fits him.

If you do not hear from the performer, you may be sure that he is not interested in your act. He may be out for the first few weeks in a brand new act, and not in the market at all. So if you do not hear from him, wait until another act comes along and you see someone for whom your act is "just made."

(c) Should you receive a favorable reply to your request for an appointment, you may be reasonably sure that your prospective purchaser at least needs a new act. In meeting your appointment, be on time, and have someone with you. A woman, of course, would have a chaperon, precisely as she would if she were meeting any other stranger. And a man might care to have someone to engage the attention of the performer's companion and leave him an uninterrupted opportunity to talk business.

(d) Ask for an immediate reading of your manuscript, or at least request it read the next day, when you can be present while he is reading it. Do not leave a manuscript to be returned to you by mail. Vaudeville performers are as honest as any other class of men, but they are busy people and the thing that is put off is forgotten. They are in one town today and miles away tomorrow, and they may leave the manuscript on the bureau of their hotel room intending to mail it at the last minute—and rush away and forget it. Therefore you should ask for an immediate reading. It will take a performer only a few minutes to decide if he cares to consider your act. He knows of what he is in need—and usually is prepared to tell you.