Your most perfect songwriter

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Thread inspired both by the Dylan thread, and by Eric Taylor.

If you haven’t heard of him, Eric Taylor is a phenomenal Texas singer/songwriter who’s been around for quite some time, though he doesn’t have a very large body of work, and once went almost fifteen years between critically-acclaimed albums, which might help to explain why he isn’t hugely popular (the venues he plays are very small - I’m going to try to go see him at a bed and breakfast about an hour from here in March). His scope of influence on Texas singer/songwriters belies his relative lack of commercial success, though. And he has been releasing on a more regular schedule lately, having put out five excellent albums between 1995 and 2007.

Here’s some songs.

Dean Moriarty

Dean Moriarty don’t live here no more
He’s off in California and he works in a liquor store
Where it’s two packs of cigarettes
And one-half of a pint
He’s off to his room on the Mexican side

Says he’s through with the railroad freight car line
The fight between the moon and the lantern light
Says he’s going cross country
But he might come back
Sticking to the highway
To hell with the tracks

Happy Endings

It was like the sun came up one mornin’ and never went down again
Burned a hole through Oklahoma and the cotton up and disappeared
We were diggin’ holes in the Dust Bowl, we were searchin’ for a deeper well
Mother prayed for water, but there weren’t no water anywhere.

It’s the home life, the man and wife, the kids and the Motorola
We’re broken dolls, fix us, Carl,
We can’t live like this no more now
We ain’t built like this and you know it now.

Your God

When the boatmen stole the Africans
Did your God ride or row?
When they roped them and they shackled them
Was he with them in the hold?
Was the ocean moon so beautiful
That it brought him to his knees?
What did your God see?

Who are your favorites?

If you post lyrics, do the mods a break and make sure not to post the whole song - just a verse or two. Thanks.

[Southern_Yankee]

Not long ago I started a thread singing the praises (pun intentional) of Ray Davies. But in the spirit of your OP I’ll nominate Lyle Lovett. For anyone who knows him only as the ugly half of Julia Roberts’ first marriage ( I *think *it was her first…), he’s incredibly talented. I think he has a fantastic voice, and is an exceptional song writer.

This is from North Dakota:

I remember in the mornings
Waking up
With your arms around my head
You told me you can sleep forever
And I’ll still hold you then

Now the weather’s getting colder
It’s even cold down here
And the words that you have told me
Hang frozen in the air
And sometimes I look right through them
As if they were not there

[pepperlandgirl]

Jeff Tweedy (Uncle Tupelo and Wilco). I have a book of his poetry, and because of that and his songs, I’m convinced that if he were born one hundred years ago or so, he would be one of America’s most celebrated poets.

From Via Chicago

I dreamed about killing you again last night
And it felt alright to me
Dying on the banks of Embarcadero skies
I sat and watched you bleed

Buried you alive in a fireworks display
Raining down on me
Your cold, hot blood
Ran away from me to the sea

I printed my name on the back of a leaf
And I watched it float away
The hope I had in a notebook full of white dry pages
Was all I tried to save

But the wind blew me back via Chicago
In the middle of the night
And not without fight
At the crush of veils and starlight

From Jesus Etc

Jesus, don’t cry
You can rely on me honey
You can combine anything you want

I’ll be around
You were right about the stars
Each one is a setting sun

Tall buildings shake
Voices escape singing sad sad songs
Tuned to chords strung down your cheeks
Bitter melodies turning your orbit around

From Hummingbird

His goal in life was to be an echo
The type of sound that floats around and then back down
Like a feather
But in the deep chrome canyons of the loudest Manhattans
No one could hear him
Or anything

So he slept on a mountain
In a sleeping bag underneath the stars
He would lie awake and count them
And the gray fountain spray of the great Milky Way
Would never let him
Die alone

From You Are My Face

The door screams I hate you
Hate you hanging around my blue jeans
Why is there no breeze
No currency of leaves
No current through the water wire
No feelings I can see
I trust no emotion
I believe in locomotion
But I’ve turned to rust as we’ve discussed
Though I must have let you down
too many times
In the dirt and the dust

[Paladud]

Vladimir Vysotsky is by far the best I’ve heard, and is my primary source of inspiration in writing poetry. Unfortunately, the translations do not do him justice, but here goes.

from End of the Wolf Hunt, translated by Eugenia Weinstein

Snow would melt underneath us, like under the sun…
Man, not God up above, thought of slaughter as fun:
Fly - and perish in flight, flee - and die on the run!

from Tightrope Walker, translated by Eugenia Weinstein

He could neither for rank nor for height hope…
Not for fame and not for payment
In his odd style, without a swerve
All through life he’s been walking a tightrope,
Not the pavement, not the pavement -
A tightrope strained like a nerve.

Fires - translated by me

The flames engulf the land - each higher, hotter, full of life!
Reflections darting, waltzing, in their revelry persistent.
But Fate and Time had mounted on their steeds, intent on strife,
And galloped off in metal hail,
Ensconcing in a chilling gale
All countries, close and distant.

The wicked bullets sped and vehemently scattered,
We raced upon our steeds, they followed in our wake.
The horses lost their nails, and heated horseshoes flew and clattered
To lie in dust to bring good luck for any man to take.

The reins, like slimy eels, were always slipping,
And hair and thoughts were tangled as we sped through rough terrain.
The wind untangled curls as it was whipping,
And straightened convolutions in the brain.

No fear of death, pursuit, nor flames shall bar the riders’ way,
And Time approached, and Fortune, smiling, with his saber greeted;
Their blades were crossed with sunbeams in a luminous array,
Two poets, locked in fatal bout!
The flames died down and flickered out -
But combat grew more heated.

The world had never seen a gallop so frenetic,
The hoofbeats set a rhythm as yet unheard before.
The bullets, blind and stupid, grew with bloodlust energetic,
Matured and wisened up and aimed and hit their targets more.

And who will falter? Who will make a blunder?
And who is faster? Victory will surely grace the bold.
The wind our very flesh from bones would sunder,
And gratified the skeletons with cold.

What promise does the future hold? The sick shall not be cured.
Tomorrow offers nothing but its bitterness and shadow;
Time gallops straight ahead, as though its victory’s assured.
So let us ride and meet the foe,
And friends, should fortune thus bestow.
Fate flies across the meadow!

That gullible old Death we easily outwitted,
It hesitated some and swung its scythe no more.
For once, the bullets lagged behind and in the distance flitted…
Perhaps we’ll have a chance to wash with dew instead of gore?

The breeze sang sadly, softly in its passion.
Time’s riddled through with bullet-holes, and Fate is racked with pain,
And winds and horses carried in procession
The souls and bodies of the freshly slain.

[koeeoaddi]

You say I took the name in vain
I don’t even know the name
But if I did, well really, what’s it to you?
There’s a blaze of light
In every word
It doesn’t matter which you heard
The holy or the broken Hallelujah
– Leonard Cohen

Blue, here is a shell for you
Inside youll hear a sigh
A foggy lullaby
There is your song from me
– Joni MItchell

[lissener]

Jane Siberry and Victoria Williams are the best songwriters breathing.

[Jettboy]

Shane McGowan of The Pogues. The quintessential Irish poet; brilliant…and drunk.

The last time I saw you was down at The Greeks’
There was whiskey on Sunday and tears on our cheeks.
You sang me a song as pure as the breeze
Blowing up the road to Glenaveigh.
I sat for a while at the cross at Finnoe
Where young lovers would meet when the flowers were in bloom
Heard the men coming home from the fair at Shinrone
Their hearts in Tipperary wherever they go.
from “The Broad Majestic Shannon”

*In Manhattans desert twilight
in the death of afternoon,
we stepped hand in hand on Broadway
like the first men on the moon.

And the blackbird broke the silence
as you whistled it so sweet,
and in Brendan Behan’s footsteps
I danced up and down the street.*
from “Thousands are Sailing”

One summer evening drunk to hell
I stood there nearly lifeless.
An old man in the corner sang
where the water lilies grow.
And on the jukebox Johnny sang
about a thing called love.
And it’s “how are you kid” and “what’s your name”
and how would you bloody know?
In blood and death 'neath a screaming sky,
I lay down on the ground,
and the arms and legs of other men,
were scattered all around.
Some cursed, some prayed, some prayed then cursed
then prayed and bled some more.
And the only thing that I could see
was a pair of brown eyes that was looking at me.
But when we got back, labeled parts one to three,
there was no pair of brown eyes waiting for me
from “A Pair of Brown Eyes”

[Rico]

I must put in my plug for Dean Friedman,

For those of you who only remember him for his pop songs such as Ariel, McDonald’s Girl and Lucky Stars, you’re missing a lot.

For instance:

Humour Me

You see, underneath this cynical exterior,
there’s a child in me waiting for the chance
To prove that all my logic is inferior to romance.

The Letter

So what’s it like to be on your own, a roaming vagabond,
away from home, in search of some forgotten door?
Is it half as good as it sounds? Tell me, have you really found
the peace and calm we’ve all been looking for?

All Grown Now

Now as we put the kids to bed and turn out the light you know I can’t help wondering where the time has gone.
And as they say their sweet goodnights and beg for one last bedtime song,
I think how blessed we are, to come so far.

And we’re all grown, all grown, all grown now…

And on the lighter side:

S & M

“Oo, Oo, Aha. Do it again, pretty momma.
First let me thank you for letting me spank you
My credo and my ism is Sado-Masochism.”

[Beware_of_Doug]

I can’t think of a bad song by Irving Berlin. And when you consider that he couldn’t read music and could barely write it…and penned all his own lyrics…the man obviously had a gift from Og.

[Exapno_Mapcase]

Paul Simon has been consistently brilliant through his career.

And while most people don’t think of them this way, Walter Becker and Donald Fagan are phenomenally good lyricists, once you get past the fact that they write for themselves and not for audiences to get. I think that Fagan does most of the lyrics, but you can never see behind their wall.

[RealityChuck]

Cole Porter and George Gershwin, of course. Also Tom Lehrer and Flanders and Swann

In the rock era, I’d mention Peter Townsend, Lyle Lovett, Robbie Robertson, Steve Winwood/Jim Capaldi, and Loudon Wainwright III.

[photopat]

Paul McCartney. John Lennon.

[Invisible_Chimp]

To paraphrase a local radio talk show host who wanted to put together a top 5 list of greatest songwriters, “Every one agrees with Robert Zimmerman and Declan McManus, but after that no one does.” Of course, he used their stage names of Bob Dylan and Elvis Costello, in order.

I love singer-songwriters and my three favorites are Leonard Cohen, Richard Thompson, and Nick Lowe, not necessarily in that order.

[Leaffan]

Paul Simon was very good, in his time.

What a dream I had
Pressed in organdy
Clothed in crinoline of smoky burgundy
Softer than the rain
I wandered empty streets
Down past the shop displays
I heard cathedral bells
Tripping down the alleyways
As I walked on

[Exapno_Mapcase]

@Ataraxy

To paraphrase a local radio talk show host who wanted to put together a top 5 list of greatest songwriters, “Every one agrees with Robert Zimmerman and Declan McManus, but after that no one does.” Of course, he used their stage names of Bob Dylan and Elvis Costello, in order.

Stage names? Aren’t those their legal names now? In fact, for a great many years?

[MrDibble]

Billy Bragg
Kate Bush
Natalie Merchant

too tired to post examples

[Acid_Lamp]

Tom Waits, or Nick Cave.

[gigi]

Stan Rogers

Is this the face that won for her the man
Whose amazed and clumsy fingers put that ring upon her hand?
Oh, tell me what you’re going through,
'Cause all I want to do is be protecting.
No! All those shadows on your face,
They look so out of place, they should be sunlight.
I want to take you when the smile returns
And keep you from the night
And wake up to see me in your eyes.

[Annie-Xmas]

Tom Paxton is astonishing good, whether he’s writing humourous or sad songs.

His work is very covered: Rambling Boy, Marvelous Toy, Bottle of Wine, Wasn’t That A Party, Whose Garden Was This? just to name a few.

Dolly Parton is good too.

[ShermanAter]

Lots of great responses so far. I must add john Hiatt to the mix.
He is a great songwriter.
http://www.sing365.com/music/lyric.nsf/John-Hiatt-Lyrics/21419A591CB64EFD48256A96002FA788