How to Write a Song: A New Songwriter’s Guide to Song Lyrics & Melodies


There ’ mho this girlfriend in the corner and she ’ s little, truly little, and she looks like a boy, and she ’ randomness seething with emotion, with rage and love – because she ’ randomness alone, because we ’ re all alone, because our parents didn ’ t get it. She just found out faster .
Her hide is thin because her heart is bigger. Her heart pushes against the clamber, stretching it, sometimes excessively much .
She is a bloodletter, this female child. “ A bloodletter of emotion, ” she says .
I think, given the right or the wrong here and now, you are besides.

“ I ’ m like a singing bally banshee, ” she says. “ My music err on the histrionic side, but that ’ s how I feel, you know, I try to just let it seep out because it merely hurts me if I don ’ thymine. I put it all on the trace, you know, I think I am possessed by the spirit of a gambler, the big wheel. I ’ ve put it all on bolshevik 27. ” She could lose it all right now .
This is LP .
Born Italian. New York. You ’ ve got to understand that ; the hottest rake, the toughest city, the smallest girl .
nowadays she is 5 ’ 3 ” and good over a hundred pounds but her legal is anthemic, maxed out. You don ’ t believe your ear-eyes when you see-hear, pealing from the body of one fighting with not enough, the music of therefore, so a lot. It is the music of aroused hand brake, a entreaty whistle loud into a bottle and cast out to sea .
“ When they see person like me, ” she says, “ you can think, oh asshole, I can be like that. ”
I think of Judy Garland, Bjork, Freddie Mercury if he had to deal with being a bally girlfriend. From a small couple, a conflagration .
“ I ’ m like, fair a very, very emotional, medium asshole. I ’ megabyte fair constantly worried about everything. But I ’ molarity trying to send a message to people that it ’ second going to be okay. They see the person who makes the music and I want them to know, like, I ’ thousand dear. You know ? I ’ m still sad, I ’ m still angry, but I ’ thousand good. I want them to know that. ”
LP is the medicine. She is good for grief, which she knows, and in a room, lives in. “ I ’ molarity always scared to lose person, ” she says. “ I ’ m very aware of the fact that it could wholly be gone in a second. ”

She writes from that, sings from that. The annoyance, the grain of ocean-floor sandpaper troubling the oyster. It ’ south passing. It ’ mho constantly there .
Her mother died when she was a adolescent. She sang besides —a voice, LP remembers, that “ was identical operatic, kind of like Maria Callas with a Julie Andrews cleanness to her tone. ”
Loss, passing. I ’ ve lost besides .
She ’ ll never recover, but there is the mounting hope, the certain cognition, hard-earned, that “ you can wield suffer, which is strength and baron. ”
So it works like this : personnel casualty, loss, pearl .
LP is the power crawling itself out of the ashes. I ’ meter worry about her. She doesn ’ metric ton expression like she ’ ll make it — then you hear. then you know. “ Everyone in the audience, I feel like I want to literally look them in the eye the hale time. ” She sings :
my church is you
my church is love
my church includes all of the above
no questions asked
no one to judge
my church service is you and always was .
The more she loses, the more we gain. The more we gain, the less she loses.

“ I want everyone, ” she says, “ to know they can feel safe. ”
Church, no church. Gay, not gay. The bloodbath ’ s the lapp .
The blood-pearls of a poet-oyster who has hit songs and record deals and plays sold out shows all over the world and goes to bed saying to herself, “ I love, I love, I love, I love… ”

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