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Richard Elliott's avatar

Great list. Five off the top of my head, which I suppose is a kind of Top 5. I could have chosen other examples from all these artists:

1. Robert Wyatt, 'Blues in Bob Minor': a Dylan pastiche where words merge with others to suggest new terms or phrases: 'Tunnelling a wormhole Eartha Kitty catfish ... Hibernate in winter of our discotheque no end in sight' https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=onieIPXIogc

2. Weird Al Yankovic, 'Bob': another Dylan pastiche where all the lines are palindromes (as is 'Bob'): ‘Do

geese see God?’, ‘Do nine men Interpret? Nine men I nod’ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eIty7RqbF9o

3. Joni Mitchell, 'Amelia': great imagery: 'I was driving across the burning desert / When I spotted six jet planes / Leaving six white vapor trails across the bleak terrain / Like the hexagram of the heavens /

Like the strings of my guitar' https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BsWVRN8DDjs

4. Robbie Fulks, 'That's Where I'm From': many moments of lyrical brilliance in this song, but I'll flag two: the subtle shift at the halfway point in what the 'that' of the refrain refers to, switching from a reference to a place to a reference to the thing that separates a father from his children. The other is much simpler and is a perfect example of how country music authenticity relies on boiling things down to simple equations, reminding us that, despite my longwinded explanation, clever doesn't mean wordy: 'if you've every heard Hank Williams sing / well you know the whole blessed thing' https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AYETol1JfCw

5. One from this year: Ruthie Foster, 'Mileage': I like a well-run metaphor and Foster keeps this one running along nicely https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AcEmTAMwKdQ

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Sam Redlark's avatar

The Divine Comedy's first album, Liberation, (their second if you take into account Fanfare For The Common Muse, which has been disowned by its author, Neil Hannon), opens with birdsong and a hesitant tumble of minor piano notes that carry an air of the Spring about them. 'Festive Road,' follows a man named Mr Benn as he visits a fancy dress emporium, where a grinning shopkeeper rents costumes that allow his customers to indulge in their fantasies. Underlying the insinuation that a parade of adult customers are attempting to add a spark to their love lives by dressing up and playing different roles, is a children's TV show from the 1970s, called Mr Benn, in which the titular character visits the shop and is transported to different periods in time and mythology, according to whatever costume he has chosen. Hannon, who no doubt grew up watching Mr Benn, uses the conceit of the show to make the gentle point that the games that are played in childhood often carry through into adulthood, where they change in tone, though a certain innocence remains. It is a theme that re-emerges periodically across the album.

Madness, during their 1980s prime, were masters of writing the kind of broad pop songs that would appeal to a pre-teen audience while also burying a double meaning that would strike a poignant chord as their fans grew older and more well-versed in the ways of the world. 'Our House' documents the chaos of a family living on top of each other at close quarters – a mother and father and kids of different ages. The line “Something tells you that you've got to move away from it” that is buried, almost as an afterthought in the backing vocals of the later choruses, reframes the song, less as a celebration of family life and more as the unconscious lament of someone who is outgrowing the place where they have grown up.

“Levolor, which of us is blind?” enquires Nina Gordon and Louise Post of Veruca Salt in the chorus of 'Number One Blind' – surely the only song in existence where a girl awakens at an indeterminate hour of the day and addresses her concerns regarding her poor life choices to a popular make of window blind.

'Let the Fight do the Fighting' by Nada Surf, opens with an image of youth gone awry, drinking someone's parent's bar while surrounded by the adult trappings of hardcover books and silver frames. It is a song about one of those mutually destructive friendships where you each bring out the worst in each other. The line “I can't have you, even as an enemy,” reminds me of an unfortunate moment in my life where, having run out of words to express my fury, I ended a well established friendship with a wild punch. I regret it; not ending the friendship, but the way that I ended it.

“When she first saw him, In her blood she knew her role. He'd be king of the castle, she'd be the riches he stole. Some only wander through the empty rooms of their soul. They need the ashes of others to make them whole.”

There is something very literary about the opening lines of 'The Dance' by American Music Club, to the point that you could be forgiven for thinking they were the introduction to a short story. Mark Eitzel is a talented lyricist who knows how to take complicated ideas and boil them down into a verse or a chorus. In this case it is a vignette of an off-duty cop, visiting his girlfriend while he is high, and encouraging her to dance with him. By the second verse, Chekov's gun is out of its holster and being waved around like a conductors baton at a orchestra. By the end of the fifth verse the trigger has accidentally been pulled. “When she was dancing with him, he was dancing with the dead,” observes Eitzel, prior to the strangled guitar solo.

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