BRUNNER You aren't the only one being pretentious. Try this lyric from Led Zeppelin's ''No Quarter'' on for size: ''Walking side by side with death/The devil mocks their every step/The snow drives back the foot that's slow/The dogs of doom are howling more.'' Nice rhyme, guys.
If you can really convince yourself lyrics are poetry, more power to you. Jim Morrison -- one of rock's worst lyricists -- would agree. But I don't think that has much to do with how most people listen to music. Look, I adore the work of Dylan, Springsteen, Costello, and the Beatles. But can we please just admit that these people are not literary geniuses? What they are, in fact, is great singers -- yes, even Dylan. They take their so-so words and really sell them with emotionally rich vocals that convey nuance and meaning -- depth that just isn't there when you read it written out. Music, after all, is ultimately about sound: rhythm, melody, texture, the timbre of the human voice. It seems obvious, but so many critics seem to forget this, spending too much time trying to make lyrics appear deep and meaningful. But if mere words were enough to say it, why have the music part at all?
WILLMAN Because music adds a mystically emotional, transcendent quality to wordy literalness, or sometimes acts as an ironic contrast, or sometimes even just rocks hard enough that it takes the right amount of piss out of a brilliant lyric that might read a little too portentously on the page. Are you telling me you've never heard a lyric that made an okay tune into something great?
BRUNNER Sure. I've been amused, moved, and inspired by lines written by Morrissey, Ray Davies, Neil Young, and countless others. But while lyrics are a nice bonus, they're never the point. I mean, would the Stones have been less great if Jagger sang, ''I get tons of satisfaction/I get lots of girls' reactions''? No way. Just listen to the hook from last year's best song, OutKast's ''Hey Ya!'': ''Hey...ya. Hey...ya. Hey...ya. Hey…ya.'' That's a lyric!
WILLMAN For the second time, you've picked on lyrics I'd planned to cite as wonderful. The chorus of ''Hey Ya!'' might not have Rilke rising from the ground in envy, but listen to the verses and you've got a fascinating exploration of ambivalence about relationships. Andre gives props to Mom and Dad for staying together, even though ''we'' -- in this sexually liberated generation -- ''don't know how.'' Then he spends most of the rest of the song blowing this girl off, maintaining that all love fades, so why pretend we should mate for life? There's something poignant about how he's compelled to acknowledge monogamy as an ideal right before he knocks it down.
