I Object (And You Should Too!) Object Writing Within Songs
Object Writing can be an incredibly useful tool for curing writer’s block. When I say writer’s block, you might be picturing an aspiring songwriter, who just can’t bring themselves to write as often as they’d like. (No judgments as some of the greatest songwriters of all time only write when inspired.) Snow Patrol, for instance, went seven years between studio albums, due to lead singer Gary Lightbody’s bout of writer’s block. Bob Dylan went through it in the 90s and 2010s, and coped by releasing albums of standards that inspired him. But what if you had strategies to cope with that writer’s block, to the point where you completely eliminated it? From pop music to country music, there are people whose job it is to write hits for the stars. That’s a lot of pressure, so let’s take a look at one of the ways they do that: Object Writing.
So what exactly is Object Writing? I view it with two definitions in mind:
You center in on an object. This could be something in the room, such as a wall or a TV, or something based on an idea you have, that’s not in the room, but still on your mind.
You center in on a person you are observing and make up something about a conversation they are having.
The second one I will cover in a future blog, circling back to my conversation about character development. For the purposes of this blog, we will focus on objects. Specifically, we’ll look at how the objects you write about can trigger an intense amount of nostalgia.
Denim Jacket — Maroon 5
In the opening of this blog, I mentioned people whose job it is to write hits for and/or with the stars. This song was written by Adam Levine, James Allen Ghaleb, Peter Kelleher, Tom Barnes, Ben Kohn, Oscar Gorres, and Jacob Kasher Hindlin. Interestingly, in looking at their production and songwriting discography, there isn’t a whole lot of object writing that has occurred. This particular song felt like a first for everyone involved, which was cool for me as a longtime fan of Maroon 5.
Lyrically: The power of this song begins with the opening line: “You’re standing there with your cigarette, looking at me like we’ve never met.” It’s a very one-sided bit of nostalgia. It is quickly revealed that she left because he was presumably too immature. She’s changed, he hasn’t, and appropriately, his memory of her is of something she wore when they were together — a denim jacket. One of the knocks on Maroon 5 (and on pop music in general) is how little there is that gets said or revealed throughout the course of the song. But immediately upon the reunion, we see that it’s not just about the jacket, but rather the person inside that jacket. Everything is reminding him of her. My favorite line in the song is: “‘Cause the color of the sky, just reminds me of our goodbye.” Contrast that with someone who has changed so much, despite the happy memories the lead singer has of her. There’s so much said with so few words, and it’s just gorgeous.
Melodically: The song has an acoustic guitar at the beginning, with an electric keyboard accompanying it. In addition, there are heavily effected drums and bass. The song is written in C# major, with a chord progression of C#, G#, and F# in the verses, while the pre-chorus goes to a D# and F#. Then in the chorus, it follows the progression of C#, D#, F#, and A# min, and G#. The chords follow a I-V-IV pattern that has been prevalent in popular songs, spanning 50+ years (including Richie Valens, U2, and Kenny Rogers). And although you might dismiss all of those as just pop songs using a formula, the chords used create an underlying tension at points that don’t get resolved. “Denim Jacket” in particular does this incredibly well. The short pre-chorus, “And aaaaaaaaah we’re both so different now,” as well as the aforementioned “Color of the sky” lyric, leave so much unresolved, and the melody and chord progression match that.
Structurally: One of the things that got me interested in studying Maroon 5, not just listening to them, was their unique way of structuring their bridges. And although the attention to that aspect of the song has, in my opinion, fallen off over the past 10 years or so, “Denim Jacket” does something rather interesting. It would be a stretch to call it a bridge, but after a solo, they go back to the first line of the first verse: “You’re standing there with your cigarette. Looking at me like we’ve never met.” Then it goes in for one more heart-wrenching chorus about the girl in the denim jacket. The takeaway, similar to the melodic and lyric analyses: Less is more.
Embedded is the link to “Denim Jacket” by Maroon 5.
2. New Year’s Day — Brian Blake
Lyrically: The song begins with the singer finding an old cup that a former lover gave him. This triggers memories of “New Year’s Day of ‘99” when he woke up with this person, after “Making love to Bell Bottom Blues” and the subsequent feelings. The second verse follows the same structure, but this time it’s with a photograph. It’s just a beautifully haunting song, and a stark reminder of how one item can make memories flow and just keep flowing.
Melodically: While re-listening to this song, I told somebody that it all starts with a mug and the memories just kind of spiral out of control from there. However, the memories aren’t bad ones, but fond ones, so the upbeat, slightly faster tempo to the song fits incredibly well with the message he’s conveying. The song is written in the key of C maj and uses C maj, D min, E min, F maj, G maj, and A min throughout the song.
Structurally: The most powerful thing about the structure of this song is how it begins and how it ends: “Got this old mug on the shelf, I take it down and pour myself a cup.” The whole song is based around this cup, because none of the memories would have happened, had he not found the cup. He wouldn’t have been inspired to go look for the photo (or as he brilliantly puts it, “An old black and white”), so the first line and the last line set the framework around which the rest of the song is built. It follows a verse, chorus, verse, chorus, solo, chorus, ending (the first line of the first verse) format.
You can listen to “New Year’s Day” below, by clicking on the embedded link.
3. “The House That Built Me” by Miranda Lambert
Lyrically: Much like the first two songs we looked at in this blog, this song focuses on a singular object: A house, which triggered all kinds of childhood memories, specifically ones about playing in the yard, putting her handprints on the front steps, and “where (she) did her homework and learned to play guitar.” Nashville songwriters are notorious for taking a common phrase and flipping it on its head (such as “You Look Like I Need a Drink” by Justin Moore), and the title does just that. It would have been easy to say, “I made this house what it was”, and by all indications, it feels like she did, as did her parents, who worked hard to have their dream house that her mom envisioned through Better Homes and Gardens. However, the twist is that it ended up metaphorically building her. But even through that turn of phrase, there’s a simplicity and straightforwardness to the song’s message. There’s a sweetness to the narrator’s journey and her courage to ask the current owner of the house if she could come look around to find herself again. It’s also interesting that we never hear from the homeowner at any point in the song, whether she let her in or not.
Melodically: The song is written in F major, going from F maj to A min to B flat, to F maj for the verses. Then in the chorus, it uses B flat, F maj, G min, F maj, B flat, D min, B flat, F maj, B flat, F maj, C maj, and F maj. For the bridge, she uses D min, F maj, G min, B min, and C maj. The most prevalent instrument is an acoustic guitar, giving it its intimate feel.
Structurally: The song follows a verse, chorus, verse, chorus, bridge, chorus form. The bridge is, like the rest of the song, very simple: “You leave home, you move on, you do the best you can. I got lost in this old world and forgot who I am.” Then it dives right back into the chorus. It’s an amazingly smooth transition. Similar to U2’s “One,” if you drift off for a second during the bridge, you’ll miss it. Bridges are supposed to take the listener to another place, and like the house in question, it takes you to a place you haven’t been in awhile: The narrator’s brokenness. And what’s the cure for that brokenness? Seeing her childhood home again. No need for a solo or anything in between.
I want to mention one more thing before I close my analysis on this song: A handful of years ago, I saw a segment on CMT Insider, asking artists about songs they wish they had written. A handful of artists cited “The House That Built Me,” and Miranda Lambert’s reaction was, “I wish I had written it!” So shout out to Tom Douglas, who penned this powerful tune, as well as Miranda Lambert, for giving it life.
Embedded below is a link to “The House That Built Me”, as well as “One” by U2.
4. Give it Away — George Strait
Lyrically: Unlike the first three songs we looked at, which focused mostly on one singular thing (a denim jacket and a coffee cup), “Give it Away” asserts that every single thing reminds the singer of his ex-wife. While “Denim Jacket” mentions the color of the sky triggering memories of a past love, this song asserts that he can’t even stay inside – because inside the house, there are way too many memories of the two. A bed, a picture from their honeymoon, to her diamond ring, to her presumed monetary inheritance (“Your half of everything”). The interesting thing about the perspective of this song is that it’s written from two different perspectives: his inability to move on, and her uncanny ability to move on. He asks her whether or not she wants to keep the bed, that picture, her diamond ring, and her money, and she just dismisses his feelings saying, “Just give it away.” The twist at the end is that he’s left with all of this stuff, “And (he) can’t even give it away.” On a personal note, the first time I heard this song was when I heard Bill Anderson (who wrote the song with Jamey Johnson and Buddy Cannon), perform it at the Grand Ole Opry. Although I was 14 at the time (and had only gotten my heart broken a few times at that point), the lyrics immediately connected with me.
Melodically: This song has a simple F major chord played during the verses. This is necessary, because he uses a talking pattern. However, in the chorus, he uses Bb, F, C7, to F (IV, I, V7, to I) progression. Musically, there’s an acoustic guitar, a pedal steel, violin, drums, and an electric guitar, as well as a piano at the end of the song. It’s a slow rocking song, which gives you the feeling of someone who’s just barely plugging along, with this newfound heartache.
Structurally: I mentioned earlier the talking pattern that defines the verses. However, the talking pattern is more reminiscent of “When I Think About Leavin’” by Kenny Chesney (written by Tom Johnson, Rory Lee Feek, and Paul Overstreet) than a rambling talking pattern, seen in songs like “Alice’s Restaurant” by Arlo Guthrie or “Brownsville Girl” by Bob Dylan. (Of note: Dylan wrote “Brownsville Girl” with director Sam Shepard. Co-writing with a director lends itself very well to object writing). Talk-singing is a very effective technique for both the storyteller and the listener, as you quickly realize you can’t afford to drift off. In the George Strait song and the Kenny Chesney song, the talking is brief, setting up the chorus in a hurry. It is effective in all of the songs because it makes you realize just how much the singer has to process, while also having to cope with the fact that she wants to give away everything that they worked so hard for. In the George Strait song, the twist comes in at the end, saying he can’t give any of it away.
Embedded below are “Give it Away”, “When I Think About Leavin’,” “Brownsville Girl”, and “Alice’s Restaurant”.
