_I'd sigh for, I'd cry for, sweet dreams forever,_ My little dream girl, good night.

These, also, are placed next to the last lines of the chorus.

The punch lines of "When it Strikes Home," are found in

And when you hear of brave boys dying, You may not care, they're not your own, _But just suppose you lost your loved one That is the time when it strikes home._

Here the punch is placed at the very end of the chorus.

Now test every song on your piano by this laboratory method. You will find that while there may be punch lines at the end of the verses there are nearly always punch lines at the end of the chorus.

There must be a reason for this similarity in all these popular songs. And the reason is this: The emphatic parts of a sentence are the beginning and end. The emphatic part of a paragraph is the end. If you have a number of paragraphs, the last must be the most emphatic. This is a common rule of composition founded on the law of attention--we remember best what is said last. The same thing is true of songs. And song-writers are compelled by vaudeville performers to put a punch near the end of their choruses because the performer must reap applause. Thus commerce keeps the song-writer true to the laws of good art. Therefore remember:

_The most attractive lines of a popular song must be the last lines, or next to the last lines, of the chorus._

This holds true whether the song is a "sob" ballad or a humorous number. And--strictly adhering to this rule--put a punch, if you can, at the end of each verse. But whether you put a punch at the end of a verse or not, always put a punch close to the end of your chorus.

10. Contrast an Element of the "Punch"

One of the easiest ways of securing the vitally necessary punch lies in contrast. Particularly is this true in humorous songs--it is the quick twist that wins the laughter. But in all songs contrast may form a large part of the punch element.

The ways of securing a contrast are too many to permit of discussion here, but I name a few:

You may get contrast by switching the application as Harris did in:

You may not care, they're not your own, But just suppose you lost your loved one.

Or you may get contrast by changing your metre and using a contrasting measure. While you may do this in the middle of the chorus, it is nearly always done _throughout_ the chorus. I mean that the measure of the chorus is usually different from the measure used in the verse.

And of course when you change the measure of your lyric, the movement of the music changes too. It is in the resulting contrasting melody that lies much of the charm of the popular song.

But, whatever means you use, be sure you have a contrast somewhere in your lyric--a contrast either of subject matter, poetic measure or musical sounds.

11. Love the Greatest Single Element

If you will review all the great song successes of this year and of all the years that are past, you will come to the conclusion that without love there could be no popular song. Of course there have been songs that have not had the element of love concealed anywhere in their lyrics, but they are the exceptions.

If your song is not founded on love, it is well to add this element, for when you remember that the song's reason for being is emotion, and that the most moving emotion in the world is love, it would seem to be a grave mistake to write any song that did not offer this easy bid for favor. If you have not love in your lyrics make haste to remedy the defect.

_The ballad_ is perhaps the one form by which the greatest number of successful song-writers have climbed to fame. It is also one of the easiest types to write. It should seem worth while, then, for the newcomer to make a ballad one of his earliest bids for fame.

12. The t.i.tle

The t.i.tle of a song is the advertising line, and therefore it must be the most attractive in your song. It is the whole song summed up in one line. It may be a single word or a half-dozen words.

It is not the punch line always. It is often the very first line of the chorus, but it is usually the last line.

There is little need for constructive thought in choosing a t.i.tle.

All that is necessary is to select the best advertising line already written. You have only to take the most prominent line and write it at the top of your lyrics. Study the t.i.tles of the songs in this chapter and you will see how easy it is to select your t.i.tle after you have written your song.

To sum up: a great lyric is as necessary to the success of a popular song as a great melody, but not more necessary. A lyric is a verse that conveys a great deal of emotion. Most popular songs have two verses and one chorus. A regular metre is rare; irregularity may even be a virtue. The regular occurrence of rhymes and precise rhymes are not necessary--but it is better to strive after regularity and precision. There are five lyrical measures common to all poetry, but you may break every rule if you only break a record.

Rhythm--the swing--is the secret of successful songs. Every lyric must have one or more punch lines--which may occur at the end of each verse, but must be found in the last lines of the chorus.

Contrast--either of idea, poetic measure or music--is one sure way of securing the punch. Love is the greatest single element that makes for success in a song idea. The one-word standard of popular-song writing is _simplicity_--music easy to sing, words easy to say, the idea simple and plain.

CHAPTER XXIII

WRITING THE POPULAR SONG

In the preceding chapters we saw how the elements of a popular song are nearly identical in music and in lyrics, no matter how the styles of songs may differ. In this chapter we shall see how these elements may be combined--irrespective of styles--into a song that the boy on the street will whistle, and the hand organs grind out until you nearly go mad with the repet.i.tion of its rhythm.

Not only because it will be interesting, but because such an insight will help to a clear understanding of methods I shall ask you to glance into a popular song publisher's professional department.

I. A POPULAR SONG IN THE MAKING

A very large room--an entire floor, usually--is divided into a reception room, where vaudeville and cabaret performers are waiting their turns to rehea.r.s.e, and half-a-dozen little rooms, each containing a piano. As the walls of these rooms are never very thick, and often are mere part.i.tions running only two-thirds of the way to the ceiling, the discord of conflicting songs is sometimes appalling. Every once in a while some performer comes to the manager of the department and insists on being rehea.r.s.ed by the writers of the latest song-hit themselves. And as often as not the performer is informed that the writers are out. In reality, perhaps, they are working on a new song in a back room. Being especially privileged, let us go into that back room and watch them at work.

All there is in the room is a piano and a few chairs. One of the chairs has a broad arm, or there may be a tiny table or a desk.

With this slender equipment two persons are working as though the salvation of the world depended on their efforts. One of them is at the piano and the other is frowning over a piece of paper covered with pencil marks.

Perhaps the composer had the original idea--a theme for a melody.

Perhaps the lyric writer had one line--an idea for a song. It does not matter at all which had the idea originally, both are obsessed by it now.

"Play the chorus over, will you?" growls the writer. Obediently the composer pounds away, with the soft pedal on, and the writer sings his words so that the composer can hear them. There comes a line that doesn't fit. "No good!" they say together.

"Can't you change that bar?" inquires the writer.

"I'll try," says the composer. "Gimme the sheet."

They prop it up on the piano and sing it together.

"Shut up!" says the composer. And the writer keeps still until the other has pounded the offending bar to fit.

Or perhaps the writer gets a new line that fits the music. "How's this?" he cries with the intonation Columbus must have used when he discovered the new world.

"Punk!" comments the composer. "You can't rhyme 'man' with 'grand'

and get away with it these days."

"Oh, all right," grumbles the hara.s.sed song-poet, and changes both lines to a better rhyme. "I don't like that part," he gets back at the composer, "it sounds like 'Waiting at the Church.'"

"How's this, then?" inquires the composer, changing two notes.

"Fine," says the lyric writer, for the new variation has a hauntingly familiar sound, too elusive to label--is amazingly catchy.

For hours, perhaps, they go on in this way--changing a note here, a whole bar there, revising the lyric every few lines, subst.i.tuting a better rhyme for a bad one, and building the whole song into a close-knit unity.

At last the song is in pretty good shape. As yet there is no second verse, but the "Boss" is called in and the boys sing him the new song. "Change 'dream' to 'vision'--it sounds better," he says; or he may have a dozen suggestions--perhaps he gives the song a new punch line. He does his part in building it up, and then the arranger is called in.