A Study in Songwriting: Ed Sheeran VS Snow Patrol

From the Viking skald telling Icelandic folk tales around a fire to Lin Manuel Miranda recounting the life of a founding father through hip-hop and show tunes, people have always used songs to tell stories. It presents perhaps a unique challenge to a creative individual, who must negotiate constraints to time, rhythm, rhyme and even alliteration - depending on the traditions of the time. Not to mention writing a tune to wrap the words around.

It goes without saying, then, that even among the best in the business, different people will be better at different aspects of this process. Take Snow Patrol's frontman and lead lyricist Gary Lightbody: he's written many memorable songs, 'Chasing Cars' and 'Run' being the most popular. But if you listen to songs like 'An Olive Grove Facing the Sea' or 'Headlights on Dark Roads,' it becomes clear that Lightbody is not the best of melody-writers. His tunes are often static, seldom rising to a peak in the chorus. But he is a very accomplished poet, injecting his songs with intelligent observations of love, obsession and fear.

Compare this to Ed Sheeran, another talented songwriter, who has of late gone full Maroon 5, swapping melancholy ballads for catchy pop anthems. ('Supermarket Flowers' is the one beautiful exception on his latest album.) His diversity of style is testament to his tune-writing ability, and he is also an excellent observer of contemporary relationships, but I think he still has some work to do lyrically. Let me give an example...

On their latest albums, Sheeran and Lightbody each present us with a song that tells a story about childhood love. For those listening along, these are 'Perfect' (Sheeran, Divide) and 'The Garden Rules' (Snow Patrol, Fallen Empires).

First let's look at how each song starts: Sheeran, ever the teenage heartthrob, includes the phrases 'I found a love', 'I found a girl' and 'you were the someone waiting for me.' Straight to the point - he's fallen in love, and he's going to tell you about it. Meanwhile, Lightbody uses his first verse to set the scene: 'There's the river, there's your house and there's the church; and there's us years ago.' To put it bluntly, Sheeran is telling us a story, while Snow Patrol are showing us one.

As Sheeran's song continues, he treats us to a sonnet-level blazon about this girl, recounting times they've had together, and the ambiguity is swiftly removed: they seem still to be together, perhaps even thinking about having kids. More stock phrases come in the second chorus: 'against all odds', 'be my girl' and 'I see my future in your eyes.' It really is a lovely, heartfelt, well-composed song. But it's not subtle by any means.

The Snow Patrol song, on the other hand, never really leaves the past. Lightbody doesn't take us forward in time, instead delving deeper into the relationship. Without telling us anything explicitly, he shows us that his infatuation with this girl was stronger than whatever feelings she had for him, and expresses how special he felt to spend time with her. The chorus consists of a simple refrain: 'Oh you'll never know how much I love you so.' This is the only time we truly return to the present, and it maintains the ambiguity. Is he still obsessed with this old flame? Or is he telling her now, in a present where they are together?

I think my point is that we could use more people like Gary Lightbody in popular music right now. Those who can use their lyrical gifts to show us interesting, emotion-fueled stories, rather than simply telling us what happened last night in an anonymous club or bar. Intelligent songwriting can shape a culture, bring perspective to a global disaster, provide emotional education to a wide audience. I've got nothing against party anthems, or indeed Ed Sheeran; but when all is said and done, that's the kind of music I want in my life.

Action Films and the Importance of Pace

I've seen two films in the past couple of days: Edgar Wright's gritty crime thriller Baby Driver, and Spider-Man: Homecoming, the energetic child of Disney money and Sony's intellectual property. I enjoyed both films immensely, for different reasons, but one thing they share is intelligent spending of an action film's most valuable currency - pace.

Pace, or the manipulation of speed and time, defines the action format - I don't think 'action' is a genre in the same way as, say 'Western,' but that's a subject for another time. Compare the exquisitely drawn-out kitchen scene in Jurassic Park with the exhausting chase scene at the start of Casino Royale. Both are thrilling, edge-of-seat moments, but achieved through completely different uses of pace. One is a fast-moving, shakily-filmed parkour fest that never stops for breath. The other is deliberately slow and static, fueled by the seeming impossibility of the children to escape their predicament.

However, what separates a good action film from an okay one is the diversity of pace. An hour after Bond loses track of his prey, we watch as Martin Campbell makes Poker seem like Russian Roulette. By the same token, the climax of Jurassic Park sees our protagonists running and driving from an escaped T-Rex. This is one of the many problems with the Star Wars prequels - there's no control of pace. The action scenes are well-choreographed, but often feel like an onslaught of light and sound; and the slow scenes in between are just... slow. There's little tension or intrigue, just exposition.

Baby Driver and Homecoming are also tonally different. The latter maintains a playful undertone throughout, just as a Spider-Man film should, and I think Disney's writers have finally nailed the wise-cracking Spidey we know from the comics and cartoons. Baby Driver, on the other hand, stands out in Wright's catalogue as an inherently dark film. There are funny moments, sure, but the action is as unforgiving for the audience as Spacey's ruthless mob boss is for his heist teams.

As mentioned above, though, these films know how to use pace. Wright's protagonist, young getaway driver Baby, must listen to music to block out his chronic tinnitus. Not only does this make for an incredible cross-genre soundtrack, the whole movie is driven by music. Every car chase is matched exactly to the rhythm of whatever Baby is listening to; when things go well, the timing is seamless, but when things fall apart, so does the link between visual and sound. This is an ingenious way of tying theme to plot, but it also means the film never feels too fast or too slow. Baby is the driver and the DJ. When you go see this, sit back and let him take control.

Spider-Man: Homecoming is refreshing for a mainstream Marvel film. It doesn't stay in one place for too long, and never creates a scene if there doesn't need to be one. BBC's Sherlock injected pace via the use of technology - the on-screen texting is a famous example - and a similar thing happens here as well. Peter Parker spends much of the time wearing a Stark-made suit, through which Iron Man can advance the plot without slowing down the film. Finally, fast-paced films often feel the need to generate most of their comedy from changes of speed; whether it be an awkward exchange between characters in a lift, or failure to notice something in a fight scene until it's too late. Homecoming makes one of these jokes at the start and one at the end, and they're both hilarious.

In a world where nineteen partially-improvised scenes can make up a viable rom-com, I hope to see more films like these in the near future. Films with a good grasp of pace are never boring, and feel somehow more complete - The Lego Movie and Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them are each more than ninety minutes long, but their management of time and speed makes them feel half that length. Let's respect our audience's intelligence and their time; give stories the time frame they need, and nothing more.

On which note, thank you for your attention, and I'll see you in the next post.

The Future of Stories

Contrary to popular belief, physical books are actually doing pretty well right now. The 2015/2016 financial year was the first in a long time that Waterstones made a net profit, largely thanks to the plateau in ebook sales around the same time. It seems that, despite the increase in convenience granted by technologies like the kindle, people still relish the feel of heavy blocks of paper in their hands, the colourful rectangles populating their shelves.

At the very least, people expect a bit more from their tech-influenced storytelling. It's not enough to read words on a screen; we'd much rather have an actor read the words to us, so we can do something else at the same time. It's no coincidence that the fall of ebooks has come alongside the rise of services like Audible and podcasts. In short, technology should be about giving us more options, not replacing a phenomenon as loved as published paper books.

Then there are digital stories. In the final term of my English degree, I spend three hours a week learning about the small but passionate corner of the internet dedicated to creating new ways to tell a story. This corner has been there since the beginning, but has never really broken into the mainstream the way other online communities have. Nevertheless, it is a rich and wonderful place full of interesting people with intriguing stories to tell.

Digital stories are different from ebooks in many ways - for the most part, they are created with no thought of making money, and they are not constrained by the infrastructure of a traditional book. Many contain pictures, animation, video. They give the reader that something more we expect from anything that isn't simply a book.

But where digital stories really take advantage of their form is interactivity. They can engage with the reader on many levels, allowing them to choose how the story progresses, or ask them questions as the story goes on. If you follow the link below, you can play through the story I wrote for my Digital Stories module, and hopefully you'll see what I mean.

Finally, digital stories are incredibly easy to make. Go to twinery.org, and you'll have access not only to a free story-making program, but also to free community-written guides to get you started. If you fancy having a go at writing, I highly recommend this as a novel way to begin (pardon the pun).

As stories evolve in the digital world, I'd much rather have this interactive, varied, imaginative form, than simply reading a book on a screen that I'd much rather curl up and turn the pages of. I hope to continue writing digital stories, and I'll keep you updated if and when new ones appear. Thanks for your time and attention.

http://philome.la/ThornsOnRoses/castle-feldemare (you may need to copy-paste the link)

Student + ??? = Adult

In the Western world, we learn so much between the ages of 18 and 21. Whether we go to university, get our first full-time job, or begin chasing our dreams in earnest, these years are usually our first steps into true independence. We go food shopping for ourselves, go all out when it comes to parties, go halfway round the world on journeys of self-discovery. Parents and schoolwork are no longer around to define us, so we have to find out who we are for ourselves.

The flip side of that, of course, is that no one can tell us what to do; and we exploit that to the full. The number of people I know who blew most of their student maintenance loan during freshers' week is pretty staggering - I mean if we're going to be in debt anyway, why not have some fun along the way?

In my experience, this ideology of excess pervades student life on many levels:
I've only got one lecture today, I'll skip it and binge season 7 of RuPaul's Drag Race.
Let's unlock everything in Mario Kart Double Dash, and drink every time we hit a banana!
What? We ate all this week's biscuits while watching fail videos on YouTube?

Those examples are only partly true, but you get the idea.

The milestones of 18 and 21 are supposed to mark the beginning and end of our final transition into adulthood. However, there are some obstacles that even those years cannot teach. Friends of mine in their mid-to-late twenties have overcome them, and I think it is these hurdles that truly separate the adults from the big kids. I don't know if I've identified them all yet, but the one I'm focussing on here is 'moderation'.

The reason this skill is hard to learn stems from the 'no one can tell us what to do' attitude of the average first-year student. Doing things in excess is fun, feels fulfilling (at the time at least), and is made easier by the newfound freedom of our surroundings. Why shouldn't we marathon American Gods when Amazon Prime has a free trial for students? And if uni won't punish us for not turning up to lectures, why should we prioritise them over going out and drinking every night?

I should point out that I have never been that kind of student - I can count the number of contact hours I've missed on one hand. But I still rebel against moderation. The longer a D&D game is, and the more snacks I can eat during the game, the better. And if I'm going to hang out with friends at a house party, then I'm going to do it until we're kicked out!

But adults have responsibilities. They need to be awake enough to do their job, so they can still pay rent. They don't have the safety net of student loans or schedules; don't have the time to play Overwatch for 5 hours at a time. As a graduand, I'm beginning to realise that moderation forces itself on us all eventually, so the adult world can function normally.

I'm not looking forward to leaving the excess of freedom behind, but I know there are things I won't miss about it: hangovers, for a start. The feeling of uselessness when you realise that looking for easter eggs in Cars 2 isn't as productive as it sounded three hours ago. I look forward to moderation, to actively making time for the things that really give me joy, that really matter.

After all, being an adult can't be that bad...

Can it?

Podcasts Are Awesome - And More Important than Ever.

Is it just me, or do you really hate the internet sometimes?

Don't get me wrong, I don't know what I'd do without it. I organise my life on Facebook, I stream 90% of my music through Spotify, and of course no internet means no Overwatch!

But I'm sure you've had some not-so-great experiences: You finish reading an interesting article, whether it be Buzzfeed, the Onion or something a little more high-brow, and you decide to have a look at the comments section. Surely your peers will have some enlightening comments on what you've just read?

No? Just people yelling at each other? Penning essays of drivel with no evidence to back up your point, just to one-up this stranger who's rubbed you up the wrong way? Ah well...

Okay, this doesn't happen all the time, but it seems that intelligent discourse on the web is getting harder and harder to find. This is why I love podcasts. I'm sure most of you reading this already know and love the world of podcasts, and don't need any encouragement to enter this wonderful world. But for the rest of you, here's my case:

First of all, podcasts are free to anyone with an internet connection, something that few legitimate entertainment providers can claim these days. Download a good podcast app and you immediately have every single podcast out there at your fingertips.

Variety is another positive: hobbies, interests, genres - any corner of culture you can think of, there's probably a podcast for it. Want to explore Gilmore Girls in thematic detail? Then Gilmore Guys is the one for you. Are you a glutton for trivia? Well how about Tell Me Something I don't Know? Or maybe you're more of a storyteller, in which case I can heartily recommend horror-narrative podcast The Magnus Archives. You get the idea; the sky really is the limit.

Practically, they are a godsend - I don't like leaving my data on when I'm not using it, so I make sure there are a few podcasts downloaded on my phone before I leave the house. But my favourite thing about podcasts is the intelligence they bring to the internet. People who make podcasts, for the most part, are not those launching drivel after diatribe at others in the comments section. These are people who see the world for the complicated, fascinating place it is and, in their own small ways, attempt to show those complexities to the world at large. It's admirable, it's entertaining, and it's more important than ever in a world of fake news and sensationalist media.

Please give podcasts a go. You won't regret it.

As a starting point, here's a list of my current podcast subscriptions:

This American Life (Very well-researched magazine show)

The West Wing Weekly (An episode-by-episode look back on The West Wing)

Freakonomics Radio (Much more interesting than it sounds at first)

Welcome to Night Vale (A fictional radio show set in a mysterious desert town)

Answer Me This (A British classic, hilarious and informative)

Rusty Quill Gaming (D&D for your ears!)

My Dad Wrote a Porno (Exactly what it says on the tin - you will cringe and cry with laughter)

Song Exploder (Detailed analysis of modern music, really well made)

S-Town (An intriguing investigation into a mysterious death in small-town Alabama)

Goblet of Fire: Worst Movie, Best Music

Having debated with fellow Potter-heads about our favourite books in the series, Goblet of Fire is often at the bottom of the list. I think this is largely because, apart from the final few chapters, the book does nothing to advance the overarching 'Voldemort' story. But for me, the fourth installment is where J K Rowling really comes into her own. She fleshes out her world with explorations of government and international relations, and the Triwizard Tournament serves as a thrilling metaphor for Harry's overwhelming struggle with the forces of evil.

It's just a shame about the movie, really.

After two very bright, family-friendly films directed by Chris Columbus, Alfonso Cuarón's interpretation of The Prisoner of Azkaban helped move the franchise in the darker, emotionally mature direction for which the later films are renowned. But in between lies the Goblet of Fire, and within it I see none of the things I love about the fourth book.

We marvel at the build-up to the Quidditch World Cup, with its incredible set design and art direction, only to have the match take place completely off-screen. Indeed, the film spends very little time exploring the 'grown-up' wizarding world, preoccupied instead with the angst-fueled relationships of its teenage protagonists. It's not a dreadful film, but it's indecisive - its tone is all over the place, and excellent performances from the likes of Brendan Gleeson and Miranda Richardson are stilted by the slow, often awkward pace of the non-action scenes. Oh, and then there's its glaring lack of fidelity to the book.

The film's saving grace, however, is its incredible score. Just as Mike Newell was a one-time director in the Harry Potter world, Goblet of Fire sees Patrick Doyle's only contribution to the series. And boy does he make a mark. Taking over from John Williams of all people must have been a daunting task, but Doyle rose to it with gusto, creating an original, but still totally magical, soundtrack.

In the film's opening, he heralds a change in musical style by deliberately twisting the famous 'Hedwig's Theme' into his own, darker arrangement. With the exception of the Quidditch World Cup, the first forty minutes of the film is underscored with wonderfully threatening motifs, as tensions rise between Harry and Ron, and the enormity of this year's challenge is brought to light.

The score really hits its stride once the two boys are back on terms, with sweeping romantic melodies that Potter fans will forever be humming while they wash up. 'Neville's Waltz' is subdued like its namesake, but without it, the famous 'Potter Waltz' would not have the triumphant payoff it deserves during the Yule Ball. Speaking of which, let us not forget that this is the film that combined Pulp and Radiohead to form a semi-fictional magic rock band.

As the film goes on, the film folds back into its dark underscoring, with Doyle once again subverting John Williams' notorious glissando in 'The Maze.' The final scene is one part of the film I think Newell got absolutely right. The emotions are complex - Harry is alive and well, but the knowledge that Voldemort has returned looms large in the mind; Doyle complements this with 'Another Year Ends,' a simple and reflective piece that is by no means triumphant.

All four composers employed in the Harry Potter series do brilliant jobs - Nicholas Hooper's score shows variety and expertise at every turn, Alexandre Desplat's haunting arrangements are consistently spine-tingling, and of course John Williams' theme is one of his many timeless trademarks. But Doyle's score is special. He captures the essence of The Goblet of Fire more than anyone else who worked on it, whether celebrating Harry's retrieval of the golden egg, or beating out a Bulgarian fight song. I listen to this soundtrack all the time, and every time I awe at its scope: mystery, jeopardy, thrill, wonder.

And its not just me who loves this soundtrack. I won't tell you what's in the final room of the Harry Potter Studio Tour in Leavesden, just in case you haven't been. But I will tell you that it's made me cry both times I've seen it. And the two pieces they play on repeat just before you leave: 'Harry in Winter' and 'Hogwarts Hymn,' both from this soundtrack. They truly do encapsulate, perhaps more than anything else, the magic of Harry Potter.

Trump's America: The Government of Gut Reaction

If you've ever seen one of Donald Trump's tweets - and let's face it, you have seen at least one of Donald Trump's tweets - you'll have noticed he's a prolific user of gut reactions. One of the huge advantages of social media, especially Twitter, is the efficiency with which one can openly react to or comment upon something: The transition from written thought to public statement is literally the speed of light. Use of a tool that fast and powerful requires care, thought and deliberation, especially for someone with 29 million followers.

Now, I'm not trying to condemn the gut reaction. I know all too well that I let my emotions respond to things before I've truly processed them. I'm glad to be in touch with my emotions, but I feel I have the presence of mind to vet my raw thoughts before shouting them into the void.

But the more I think about it, the more it seems that President Trump's success has depended on the power of the gut reaction.

In a recent episode of popular podcast This American Life, I learned about a small congressional race in Virginia that took place in 2014. I highly recommend the podcast, and I'll link to the episode at the end, but the TLDR version of it is this: an unknown candidate ran against the House Majority Leader, and won against all odds. Why? Well, it's complicated.

Steve Bannon, then executive chair of alt-right media network Breitbart News, got involved in the race, and began polling Republican voters on their issues, asking if they would vote for their rookie candidate Dave Brat. With defence and health insurance they got nowhere, but asking about immigration got a positive reaction. So they altered their strategy accordingly.

A post-victory poll revealed that immigration was not really a priority for voters in that election at all. But the gut reaction was enough. And two years later, Steve Bannon helped Donald Trump pull off the same trick. Crowds of people chanted "Build a wall!", committed acts of violence towards those of ethnic minority. And surely most of them wouldn't be seen dead doing that outside of a Trump rally?

Trump played on the instant, emotional reactions of even the most reasonable - suspicion (where are those emails, Hillary?), injustice (Where's my factory job gone?), pride (The American Dream is gone!). And he has not stopped. Ordering a military strike over dinner with the President of China; trying to ban as many immigrants as possible as soon as taking office; lashing out at any media network attempting to fact-check the White House.

Gut reactions can be useful. They are a window into our instinct, they tell us how we really feel, help us to make decisions. But every day Trump is making choices on behalf of millions of people, that could affect millions more. Getting elected on gut reaction is one thing, but leadership is different. No one can fly a plane on intuition alone, and the US is one big plane. If he wants to avoid impeachment, I suggest Mr Trump takes some lessons.

Inspiration for this post:

https://www.thisamericanlife.org/radio-archives/episode/615/the-beginning-of-now

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_aFo_BV-UzI

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=geEVwslL-YY