ON THE WRITING OF LYRICS
The musical comedy lyric is an interesting survival of the days, longsince departed, when poets worked. As everyone knows, the only realobstacle in the way of turning out poetry by the mile was the factthat you had to make the darned stuff rhyme.
Many lyricists rhyme as they pronounce, and their pronunciation issimply horrible. They can make "home" rhyme with "alone," and "saw"with "more," and go right off and look their innocent children in theeye without a touch of shame.
But let us not blame the erring lyricist too much. It isn't his faultthat he does these things. It is the fault of the English language.Whoever invented the English language must have been a prose-writer,not a versifier; for he has made meagre provision for the poets.Indeed, the word "you" is almost the only decent chance he has giventhem. You can do something with a word like "you." It rhymes with"sue," "eyes of blue," "woo," and all sorts of succulent things,easily fitted into the fabric of a lyric. And it has the enormousadvantage that it can be repeated thrice at the end of a refrain whenthe composer has given you those three long notes, which is about alla composer ever thinks of. When a composer hands a lyricist a "dummy"for a song, ending thus,
Tiddley-tum, tiddley-tum, Pom-pom-pom, pom-pom-pom, Tum, tum, tum,
the lyricist just shoves down "You, you, you" for the last line, andthen sets to work to fit the rest of the words to it. I have dwelledon this, for it is noteworthy as the only bright spot in a lyricist'slife, the only real cinch the poor man has.
But take the word "love."
When the board of directors, or whoever it was, was arranging thelanguage, you would have thought that, if they had had a spark of pityin their systems, they would have tacked on to that emotion ofthoughts of which the young man's fancy lightly turns in spring, someword ending in an open vowel. They must have known that lyricistswould want to use whatever word they selected as a label for theabove-mentioned emotion far more frequently than any other word in thelanguage. It wasn't much to ask of them to choose a word capable ofnumerous rhymes. But no, they went and made it "love," causing vastmisery to millions.
"Love" rhymes with "dove," "glove," "above," and "shove." It is truethat poets who print their stuff instead of having it sung take a meanadvantage by ringing in words like "prove" and "move"; but thelyricist is not allowed to do that. This is the wretched unfairness ofthe lyricist's lot. The language gets him both ways. It won't let himrhyme "love" with "move," and it won't let him rhyme "maternal" with"colonel." If he tries the first course, he is told that the rhyme,though all right for the eye, is wrong for the ear. If he tries thesecond course, they say that the rhyme, though more or lessninety-nine percent pure for the ear, falls short when tested by theeye. And, when he is driven back on one of the regular, guaranteedrhymes, he is taunted with triteness of phrase.
No lyricist wants to keep linking "love" with "skies above" and"turtle dove," but what can he do? You can't do a thing with "shove";and "glove" is one of those aloof words which are not good mixers.And--mark the brutality of the thing--there is no word you cansubstitute for "love." It is just as if they did it on purpose.
"Home" is another example. It is the lyricist's staff of life. But allhe can do is to roam across the foam, if he wants to use it. He canput in "Nome," of course, as a pinch-hitter in special crises, butvery seldom; with the result that his poetic soul, straining at itsbonds, goes and uses "alone," "bone," "tone," and "thrown," excitinghoots of derision.
But it is not only the paucity of rhymes that sours the lyricist'slife. He is restricted in his use of material, as well. If everyaudience to which a musical comedy is destined to play were ametropolitan audience, all might be well; but there is the "road" toconsider. And even a metropolitan audience likes its lyrics as much aspossible in the language of everyday. That is one of the thousandreasons why new Gilberts do not arise. Gilbert had the advantage ofbeing a genius, but he had the additional advantage of writing for apublic which permitted him to use his full vocabulary, and even todrop into foreign languages, even Latin and a little Greek when hefelt like it. (I allude to that song in "The Grand Duke.")
And yet the modern lyricist, to look on the bright side, hasadvantages that Gilbert never had. Gilbert never realised thepossibilities of Hawaii, with its admirably named beaches, shores, andmusical instruments. Hawaii--capable as it is of being rhymed with"higher"--has done much to sweeten the lot--and increase the annualincome of an industrious and highly respectable but down-trodden classof the community.