Why they write bad songs

I used to study songwriting 101 very diligently. How-to books frequently pop up in the new book list.  Tons of blogs offer advice every day, some useful and stimulating, some not. I've learned the basic forms of song structures, say, Verse/Verse/Chorus/Verse or Verse/Chorus/Verse/Chorus, adding pre-choruses here and there, and don’ forget an effective short bridge, oh, and one can never repeat the chorus too many times, blah, blah, blah. Those were helpful exercises but none of them taught me that you got to be real BAD sometimes to write good songs.

I'm not talking about song crafting anymore. I'm talking about “tumbling down that road," "beaten down like a dog" because you had done really bad in your life.  I have been listening to "Folsom Prison Blues" by Johnny Cash. The song is about an inmate who can hear a passenger train from his cell. Every time I heard the line,

But I shot a man in Reno

Just to watch him die

When I hear that whistle blowin'

I hang my head and cry

I also felt like crying. Here is a song about a man getting slapped hard by the ill wind of life and he feels utterly hopeless. He feels desperate, maybe blaming the rich folks for his misfortune. But I began to wonder whether I'd been listening to the song the wrong way the whole time.

I hear songwriters talk about how they get inspired by sadness and anger inside and how those emotions led them to the song. In that sense, the act of writing could be cathartic. Sure, I've done that many times myself. Writing songs was exorcism, killing bad juju, catapulting my psyche to the wholesomeness it could enjoy once again.

As for Johnny Cash, he tried to kick the amphetamine habit, married the love of his life after ending the long, troubling first marriage, recorded numerous albums, and tried to instill in the eyes of public the image of “a born-again Christian.” His life seemed to have gotten even more topsy-turvy after he released the legendary Folsom Prison album. 

He must have had a great amount of compassion toward the incarcerated men at Folsom Prison or any other penitentiaries he visited. I always felt that Cash was a genuine artist. But Cash might have felt that his whole life had been like the jail time without being behind bars. Did having great talent and compassion toward others help him gain balance his own life? What if he lived the rest of his life tasting bitterness in his mouth? Did he think he was really bad?  Did the world know who he was? He declared himself “the biggest sinner of all.”

Reflecting on yours truly. What about me? Is there anything I can say in my song that could teach someone else? Should I write songs only when I get hurt by someone, so that I can have a sense of closure? What about the times I hurt someone? Or animals? What about the consequences of my bad actions? I may be a bit moralistic here, but even if I decided to express myself through music without words, wouldn’t my heightened ego peek out between the intervals of sound waves?

I don't believe in Original Sin or Karma in a narrow sense. But what I do or did matters: it affects others and myself in a very profound way. How can I expect my songs, borne out of the same haphazard, wrongful person's brain, to be good? I confess that I'm not a real songwriter yet. I barely brush the surface, feeling proud of being clever and prolific.

Truly great songs may not give you the closure you crave. Nor it will be cathartic. It might sink down deep in your stomach like dredge and give you a burning heartache. You may feel that way for a long time: be not surprised if you do.

Here is my unsolicited advice to fellow songwriters. If you hurt someone badly, write a song. If you broke a sacred promise, write about it. Write it with utmost honesty and without any fancy words. When you are done, share it with as many people as you can. Remember it is not an act of cleansing. Remember the song is not important. Ask for no forgiveness. No sympathy. That's your evil, not the audience's. Own it. You may hear the whistle blow from miles and miles away. You may hear the mournful sound. It may last until you enter your grave. You may not like it at all. But it's your song. Keep living with it.