Let’s start with a quick structural overview. There are two major patterns to observe: first, the pattern of verse, chorus and other parts; second, the rhyme scheme within each of those parts. The verse-chorus structure is pretty typical for a pop song, with an introductory chorus, alternation between two verses and the chorus, and a short bridge before the final chorus and the fadeout. We can abbreviate this as C-V1-C-V2-C-B-C-fade.

I will get into the chorus in more detail later, but at the moment let’s examine the fascinating rhyme structure of the verse lyrics and the way that interplays with the vocal melody. This song is unique in that each verse consists of six lines arranged as three couplets. This means (in case you don’t remember poetry from English class) that the first two lines rhyme (AA), the second two lines rhyme on a different sound (BB), and the last two lines also rhyme on yet another sound (CC). Rhyme structure is important in pop songs, as it reinforces the ability of the listeners to learn and remember the lyrics. The melody follows this as well: the first two lines have identical melody, as do the second two. The last two lines in the verse repeat the melody of the first two, then launch into the small “joining” piece, “Oh, Darlin’”, which lets us know we’re moving back into the chorus again. This structure somewhat mimics the traditional (gospel/blues/slave) “call and response” structure, except of course it is the solo vocalist singing both parts.

Now for the chorus. It is, at its core, quite simple and “sing-along-able”–the complexity lies in the two contrapuntal lines being sung by the soloist and by the backup singers. As previously mentioned, the introduction to the song is an instance of the chorus, but in this case only the backup singers are heard. This gives us the chance to hear clearly and learn this portion of the melody. The tonal quality (timbre) of the voices mimics the horns in the instrumental lines–while the Beach Boys are primarily a vocal band, their various songwriters were always conscious of the “voices” of the instruments used and there would be plenty of experimenting to get just the right sound. (This gets more interesting when you listen to various live versions of songs, when it wasn’t possible to precisely control both instrumentation and recording practice.) The background part of the chorus is simple lyrically and melodically, but the word “Darlin’” repeats twice, thereby making sure we’ll remember the name of the song.

The solo part of the chorus is higher in the balance of the recording, of course, as we are meant to listen to this part. While the background is punchy (staccato) and hornlike, the solo is smoother (legato) and accurately conveys the depth of love he has for the subject “Darlin’”. The fact that there are two independent yet complementary lines going on at the same time is what makes this counterpoint. By focusing your mind on one or the other, you can hear each clearly, but relaxing your mind you will hear the ebb and flow of the two parts–an entirely different sonic experience.

The bridge, generally, serves to add some variation and keeps the audience’s attention by giving them something different instead of another verse, before the final chorus (and in this case, fadeout). As such, the chords and instrumentation change, as do the lyrics (consisting of a single line and a couplet) and melody (the couplet lines do not have the same melody, as the verse couplets do). Yet it still ends with the “Oh, Darlin’” that launches into the chorus. There is also, at the beginning of the bridge, an upward movement of chords that is not present in the verse, which serves as warning that we are doing something different this time. The lyrics tie in to the previous verse’s final couplet (”Gonna love you every single night / Cause I think you’re too out of sight”) by singing a variation on that line:

Oh, every night, oh Darlin’

Gonna love you every single night, yes I will
Cause I think you’re too doggone out of sight

Lyrically, then, we can tell this is a love song: a man has been rescued from a life without love by Darlin’. Musically, it is also a song of celebration.

It is uptempo, in 4/4 time with a strong emphasis (as is usual in rock songs) on the 2 and 4 beats, a/k/a the backbeat. The staccato horns, tambourine, and rolling piano line keep the song moving forward and upward: no sappy embrace, this song, but a jubilant dance, the kind of hug that picks you up and spins you around.

I leave you with two more versions of Darlin’ (and the recognition that, yes, this might be overkill). The first is a live version from a 70s incarnation of the Beach Boys, and the second is a live version from Brian Wilson and his current band, several years ago.

People seem to be intimidated by the serious discussion of art. By art I mean the concrete arts (painting, sculpture), music, other performance arts (dance, wrapping buildings in plastic wrap), and writing. I even see the symptoms of this in myself sometimes, and I consider myself pretty well educated and also both engaged with and skeptical of the arts communities. (Full disclosure, in case I haven’t mentioned it before: I have a bachelor’s degree in music theory and history.)

I’m going to focus on music for the purposes of this post, since that’s what this blog is about. Here are the symptoms that I have seen: Vague complaints like “that song is not like his other songs” or “that song sounds like all his other songs”. A focus on the physical appearance of the artist. A focus on the personal life/emotional state/mental state of the artist (I mean other than Britney Spears, since obviously that’s wayyyyy more fascinating than her music). Vast amounts of excitement surrounding a new release, then comments like “Yeah, that’s pretty good” after the first listen. Outright refusal to discuss the music, while dissecting the meaning of the lyrics to death. Fear of instrumentals and jams.

Now, what would a serious discussion look like, in opposition to the above “symptoms”? Well, how about a discussion of keys and chords, and the way they set a mood and manipulate your emotions? Instead of “This song makes me sad because the lyrics are so sad,” you could say “This song makes me burst out in tears in the third verse because I think the chords are different from the first two verses, they’re sadder.” You don’t even have to know the difference between major and minor! And in the discussion of lyrics, I would love to hear less “Those lyrics are funny!” and more “The internal rhymes in that verse make it sound almost like a rap, but with more melody.”

So why are people afraid to engage in this sort of behavior? I think it’s because so many artists have made it a “thing” to say, “I am an artiste,” like that somehow makes them superior. Also, a lot of critics are total snobs. Of course regular, everyday, non-music-major people are going to be intimidated!

Well, here I am, music major, critic, snob extraordinaire, to tell you that you do not need to be intimidated by my kind!  At heart, I really am just a regular ol’ music listener; I have some terrible taste and some great taste, and I think everyone else does, too.  So let’s all just have a little chat about music, why don’t we?

Over the next few months, I am going to make it my personal mission to bring our readers out of their shells and convince you all to join in the conversation.  Let me know what I can do to make this a safe place for you to learn to talk about music without feeling like a dork.  Hey, I can’t tell a diminished chord from a monkey hitting a keyboard after years and years of ear-training.  So we can use words like “crunchy” and “groovy”, but I’ll also try to teach you the vocabulary of music.  If this works, I’ll go start an art blog.   Kidding… kinda.  To this end, I’ll be picking a song every week or so, then picking it apart.  Everyone is invited to jump in and tell me I’m wrong (actually, you’re always invited to do that).  How does that sound?

If you said “like church music”, we’re on our way already!

My personal experience is that there are two “usual” types of hits: the uptempo dance number, and the midtempo ballad (a/k/a makeout song). In this blog, I’m going to examine uptempo songs. Later, we’ll cover ballads, and the third, rogue category, the novelty song (which can occasionally fit into one or the other of the first two categories). Now, on to the hits!

The backbone of a danceable song is the backbeat. (It even has “back” in it!) This usually consists of drums (or some kind of percussion, drum machine, etc.) and some kind of bass line, either from bass guitar, “stand up” double bass, or maybe the left hand of the piano or organ player. This is what you tap your feet or fingers to, it’s what you move and groove and shake your booty to. It’s what made people on American Bandstand say, “It’s got a good beat and you can dance to it, I give it an 8.5″ for many, many years. If you haven’t got a beat, you haven’t got a hit dance song.

If you’re reading a score, the backbeat is on the bottom. Building upward, you find the instruments that play (or create) chords: keyboards, guitars, and string and horn sections. Chords are nice; they move around and create a mood, and then they resolve and finish the song (or section). Without getting into the technical details, I’ll just say that there are ways of doing this that are “usual” and ways that are “unusual”. The usual suspects are simple triads (made of 3 notes) and that’s your basic rock ‘n roll or punk song. When you get a songwriter who really knows what s/he’s doing, and s/he does something unusual, then you get a song that’s not only mass-market enjoyable, but stimulating. People actually like that. However, they don’t like “weird”, so if you’re using this post as a songwriting guide (I hope not!), be careful of weirdness.

Up at the top of our hypothetical score are the lead “instruments”, which can be just about anything that plays a melody: lead guitar, vocals, piano, sax, and if you’re Jethro Tull, flute. Here’s where the “catchiness” factor of a hit song comes into play. Like Blues Traveler said, “The hook brings you back.” So what’s the hook? Hum or sing your favorite song. The part you know best and sing loudest is probably the hook! Oftentimes, the hook is the title of the song or the fun part of the chorus. It gets repeated a lot. And in a hit song, it should be easy for the majority of people to sing. Most people who listen to the radio and enjoy songs are not trained singers, and they don’t have the range of, say, Mariah Carey. (I do, but this isn’t about me.) So take pity on your shower singers and car karaoke stars, and watch the range.

Finally, and this is optional: the lyrics. I say this is optional because there are plenty of songs out there that people sing that do not have lyrics. One of my personal favorites is… um… well, I can’t remember the name of it, because it doesn’t have any words! Oh well. Maybe I’ll remember it for the next installation of this mini-series. Anyway, if I could hum it through the blog, you’d probably know it too. And I hum or la-la-la along with tons of classical music that doesn’t have words. So lyrics are optional. And if you do have lyrics, frankly, they don’t have to make sense. In fact, it probably helps if they don’t. And if, like “Louie Louie”, the words are slurred? That’s pretty much an instant hit.

I’ll be back in a week or so with Midtempo Ballads, or Seduction In 12/8 time. Your homework assignment is to listen to the popular dance music of your generation with an ear to what I’ve discussed here, and report back as to whether I’m right. Class dismissed!