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Chapter 1

The Songs that Tell Our Stories “Sing your life”

Text: Silvia Terrón

We consider ourselves to be the protagonists of our lives, the directors of a story that no one could live for us. However, we cannot avoid shivering (from rage, from enthusiasm or from a burst of energy) when we hear words that we might have used ourselves in the first person come out of the mouths of others. At times they are phrases that describe us, that unveil parts of ourselves that we believed were ours alone. This makes us feel somewhat exposed, as if others were listening to our voices instead of the voices of those singing the songs. Other times songs describe what we would like to be, which deep down inside inspires us to be what we are or to try to be what we would like to be. On these occasions, we feel less alone: there is someone somewhere who thinks like I do and wants to do what I want to do, and they have put it in words. These are the songs that become more than just background music while we are dancing or getting ready in the morning: these songs become our hymns.

Despite the advice Morrissey gave us in “Sing Your Life” – “Sing your life / Any fool can think of words that rhyme…/ Just walk right up to the microphone / And name all the things that you love / All the things that you loathe…” – the fundamental characteristic of a hymn is that someone else other than you wrote it. One’s own song is a confession, not a discovery. When we sing songs of others we do not feel vulnerable. And Morrissey (disregarding The Smiths phase, which hit after hit was the voice of more than one generation) has quite a handful of hymns. From “We Hate It When Our Friends Become Successful”, which reflects a feeling as real and uncontrollable as envy (“You see, it should’ve been me / It could’ve been me…”) – even if it’s a lie, it is always comforting to say that we deserve to triumph more than others – to the reaffirmation of “The More You Ignore Me” (“The more you ignore me / The closer I get / You’re wasting your time…/ When you sleep / I will creep into your thoughts / Like a bad debt that you can’t pay…”), or the desperate search for love in “This World Is Full of Crashing Bores” (“This world is full / So full of crashing bores / And I must be one ‘cause no one ever turns to me to say / Take me in your arms and love me…”), although reproach is also present in songs like “Suedehead” (“Why do you come here? / When you know it makes things hard for me? / Why do you telephone? / And why do you send me silly notes?”). The thing is a hymn does not necessarily have to be something that touches us deep down inside; it can also be something that we don’t quite know how to say, and the song finds the words for us.

Other times the lyrics are not even necessary. Certain songs by Pixies come to mind. How many times have we sung “Debaser” without stopping to think what we are saying? Refrains like those in “Debaser” or “Gigantic” say it all in one word. It is not even necessary to remember what the verses are saying (an homage to Buñuel’s “An Andalusian Dog” in “Debaser”, the description of a relationship seen from the outside in “Gigantic”). It’s enough to be able to repeat one word or one phrase (like the recurring “Here comes your man”) while we dance, moving our heads or perhaps playing an imaginary guitar in order to identify. Because the Pixies are many Pixies even though they say seemingly meaningless things like “Dentro las piñones y las olas riquenas…” and “Yo soy playero pero no hay playa …” (“Oh My Golly!”). These things are not even debated.

Another band that knows quite a bit about this is Madness, a true lesson in British customs in ska code, in which the English might see themselves reflected with irony and, by extension, everyone else as well (it is well known that Great Britain, musically, is always admired and never criticized). From the student life in “Baggy Trousers” (“All I learnt at school / Was how to bend not break the rules…”) to the contagious invitation to dance without excuses or reservations in “One Step Beyond” in which the lack of more lyrics makes us sing along with the melody of the saxophone.

Still, we don’t need to turn to seasoned and time-honoured bands to find hymns. Artists like Franz Ferdinand and The Strokes show us that new songs can become as essential as classics. Just think how easy it is for us to put lyrics like these into our own mouths – “It’s always better on holiday / So much better on holiday / That’s why we only work when / We need the money…” (“Better on Holiday”) or “Find me and follow me through corridors, refectories and files / You must follow, leave this academic factory / You’ll find me in the matinee…” (“Matinee”). It is hard to resist these invitations and not to leave school or the office in the middle of the morning to take a walk and have a drink somewhere.

The Strokes for their part, have a special knack when it comes to giving us phrases for the end of the night – “Yeah, the night’s not over / You’re not trying hard enough / Our lives are changing lanes… / You’re no longer laughing / I’m not drowning fast enough…” (“Reptilia”) – or for the morning after – “See, people they don’t understand / No, girlfriends, they can’t understand / Your grandsons, they won’t understand / On top of this, I ain’t ever gonna understand…” (“Last Nite”). The guitars and the faltering voice of Julian Casablancas conspire to tell us about last (or next) weekend.

And all this comes about because deep down inside, although it might seem impossible, we are not the only ones who feel the exact combination of anger, rage and fear, or enthusiasm, love and insecurity, or nerves, sadness and happiness. On the shelves where your CDs are stored or on the radio waves you will always find someone who has been in your place and has turned the experience into song. We need only to be attentive so that the words do not escape us when we most need them.