Lyrically challenged

I wish I was a lyricist.

In a way I already am. I can carefully craft words and bring out the creativity in most any sentence. I think I’m witty and edgy in my storytelling. I avoid overused cliches—for the most part—and spin words in a way that reflects my personal spunk.

But putting these words to music would be like serving Emeril Lagasse’s prime rib to a pack of feral wolves.

It takes a certain type of writer to write lyrics. There’s the obvious need for an ear for music, but moreover, you’ve got to an ear for words. You’ve got to actually hear how a word sounds: You have to know the inflection, the beat, the pitch. And then after all that, you have to mesh those two mediums, matching the tones of the words and melody into something that not only sounds pleasant but are comparable with each other.

And I get stressed out with just the writing part.

Recently, The Benjy Davis Project’s latest album Dust has been stuck on repeat in my car’s stereo—Yes, I still buy CDs. If you’re unfamiliar with the Louisiana-based southern rock band:

1. Your life is seriously musically deprived
2. You need to stop reading, boot up iTunes and download “Louisiana Saturday Night.” It’ll change your life.

Ready to continue? OK.

Benjy Davis is one of the most lyrically-inclined musicians I’ve ever listened to. And I consider myself fairly well-versed in the music business. First off, Davis’ voice is raw. It can come off as scratchy and horse at first listen, but after a couple cycles in my stereo, that rough voice plays perfectly into the guitar chords and drum beats. It completes the band’s sound. And once you combine the catchy and widely-imaginative lyrics, you’ve got a homegrown band that not only captures their listeners, but relates to them.

Take the track “Clowns.” The title doesn’t give much away into the depth of the song. But check out these lyrics. The song is all about how he’s exhausted from touring and the truckloads of signed sellout artists who “sell [their souls] to the devil for its weight in gold.” Their emotions are at the mercy of every record label and every fan they meet, because in reality, they’re the ones paying the artist’s bills. And when trying to break out into the music field, he can’t show true emotion, even when the “demo must have been shaped like a boomerang.”

Never, even in my most awe-inspiring bursts of creativity, would I ever think to relate living life on the road to clowns. I don’t think that makes me a bad writer, but it probably doesn’t do much for my lyrically career.

That’s just what a good song should do though, right? Leave you wondering how in the hell did they ever come up with that?