Archiveguy, I limited myself to one (Cole Porter), and I think Porter is without peer. But Gershwin and Hart (especially Hart) are right up there.
Thanks for mentioning Lorenz Hart. He also had a wicked wit and the right touch of sentimentality. Hammerstein was far too soppy for my taste.
Hey, I just thought of another one: William S. Gilbert. Although he’s more of a librettist, would you say? Gilbert and Sullivan are one of the things that make me proud to be a member of the human race. If alien beings ever decided to destroy the earth because our race was too insignificant, I’d play a bunch of G&S for them and say, “Humans wrote that stuff! Back off, you slimy extraterrestrial scum!”
I couldn’t agree with you more about Gilbert. Did you see Topsy-Turvy? I thought it was just wonderful–magical even–and much better than the truly terrible composer biopics of Porter, R&H, etc. that came out of Hollywood in the 40s & 50s
I think an honorable mention should also go to Noel Coward, who was almost too witty for his own good (by which I mean he rarely achieved the perfect marriage of words & music that his American counterparts did, but those bon mots)
“I tell you how I feel but you don’t care
I say tell me the truth but you don’t dare
You say love is a hell you cannot bear
I say give me mine back and then GO THERE (for all I care)”
As for best lyricist, Billie Joel would definately be on my list. Leonard Cohen, Tom Waits, and Bob Dylan are great as well. John Lennon and Lou Reed are also great lyricists.
The Eagles are fairly good lyracists (Felder, Henley, Frey, Souther) though, I’m not sure who does the majority of the lyrics.
Some newer lyricists that I think are very good: Rodrigo from the Satanic Surfers (you knew I’d say it), Tom York of Radiohead, Ben Folds, and Steven Page & Ed Robertson of the Barenaked Ladies. Steven & Ed’s lyrics can be funny, insiteful, thought provoking, sad, happy, and have a rich variety of emotions. Here’s a couple of verses from When I Fall from Born On A Pirate Ship:
“I look in the boardroom; a modern pharaoh’s tomb
I’d gladly swap places, if they care to dive
They’re lined up at the window, peer down into limbo
They’re frightened of jumping, in case they survive”
“Look straight in the mirror, watch it come clearer
I look like a painter, behind all the grease
But painting’s creating, and I’m just erasing
A crystal-clear canvas is my masterpiece”
Sorry, I should have also explained what the song was about (the two verses don’t make it quite clear). It’s from the point of view of a window washer on the side of a skyscraper.
OP and I agree–Tom Waits. He is haunting, evocative, literate, knows the power of language, and clear.
Sondheim is “too clever” by half much of the time–Night Music overlaps on itself so much that the words are lost.
Most pop music lyrics can’t really with-stand much scrutiny. Waits is a better poet than Bukowski, most pop music words are juvenile doggerel (which doesn’t mean that they can’t be effective as lyrics. Heck, Shakespeare uses a lot of “hey nonny no” as lyrics); Porter and company have little of the emotional depth of Waits.
Cole Porter is right up there.
Elton John’s Bernie Taupin, too.
Personal fave is: Don Henley
He wrote, or co-wrote, Heart of the Matter, End of Innocence, In the Long Run, and yes, Desperado among many, many others.
Love his Talkin’ to the Moon, from his first solo album.
I never heard it until I saw him in concert, a DEFINITE must-hear for anyone from Texas.
“When the hot September sun down in Texas
has sucked the streams bone dry
and turned the roads to dust–
In the sleepy little towns down in Texas,
the shades are all pulled down;
the streets are all rolled up.
The only thing that breaks the silence
are the trucks a-passin’ by.”
"And if California slides into the ocean,
Like the mystics and statistics say it will,
I predict this motel will be standing,
Until I pay my bill.
Don’t the sun look angry through the trees?
Don’t the trees look like crucified thieves?
Don’t you feel like Desperadoes under the eaves?
Heaven help the one who leaves."
- Desperadoes Under the Eaves, Warren Zevon
Both of the songwriters above are ‘story tellers’. Zevon writes dark, black humor prose in the manner of Raymond Chandler or Carl Hiassen (both good friends of his). Prine is a master of imagery, and can drag you down into a song and just make you feel like you’re right there. Consider this, from “Mexican Home” -
"Well it got so hot last night I swear,
You couldn’t hardly breathe,
Heat lightning burned the sky like alcohol.
I sat on the porch without my shoes,
And watched the cars go by,
As their headlights raced to the corner of the kitchen wall.
Mama dear, your boy is here,
Far across the sea,
Waiting for that sacred core,
That burns inside of me.
And I feel a storm, all wet and warm,
Not ten miles away,
Approaching my Mexican Home.
Oh my god, I cried,
It’s so hot inside,
you could die in the living room,
Take the fan from the window,
prop the door back with a broom.
Etc… This song just burns those images in my mind.
