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Musical Theatre Writing - An Overview
Music and lyrics have been combined with characters speaking dialogue in scenes on
the stage from the beginning of recorded history. There were songs on the stages of
Athens when Euripides and his peers were writing in Ancient Greece, and there were
songs in Medieval morality plays for the same reason: To provide some variety and help
hold the audience’s attention.
There are songs on our stages today fulfilling the same function.
In modern terms, we can trace the history of musical theatre from early European
monodies through grand opera and operetta to musical comedy and whatever producers
care to call it now, right up to shows like Aida and Avenue Q.
The American musical began by imitating popular European operettas. In the early
years of the last century, the teens and twenties, musicals had silly books with a
completely unreal verbal style, opulent music and lush, romantic lyrics with extravagant
language.
In the thirties and forties, however, writers like Hammerstein, Porter, Ira Gershwin, Hart
and others began writing their theatre lyrics in the vernacular. The lyrics became
accessible, and the music came down to earth in response.
Writers today can profit from a study of common practices in the form – not by learning
how to imitate what has been done but by learning how the form communicates to its
audience. In simplest terms, some devices consistently seem to work better than others,
and writers and their production collaborators ought to know which are which.
A musical is a complex beast consisting of a dialogue, music, lyrics and production style.
Writers can’t do much about the last item because it is dependent upon many factors:
designers’ expertise, physical configurations of performance space, budgets, etc.
Writers can be aware of these considerations, however, and learn to collaborate with
those elements while writing words and music that do not depend on production value
for successful communication, and also organizing the material to suit the needs of the
production at hand. This makes it possible for the production to add to the effect of the
writing (if it is a good production) and insures that the writing won’t be completely
smothered by the production (if it is a poor production).
The Book
The first consideration: The book. Many people call it the libretto, but that term includes
only the words of a musical work, including the lyrics. In fact, libretto literally means
“little book.” In our language, the book is the structure of the play, including the dialogue
and any plot developments that unfold during the songs. The songs, in fact, are best
when they are extracted from the book or story, rather than when they are imposed on it.
This means, all the collaborators are really working on the “book,” even though it is
generally assumed that the bookwriter is a writer of words rather than a writer of music.
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The book for a musical is not a play, although it may begin as one. That is, a play may
be the take-off point for an adaptation, or the bookwriter may write what is essentially a
play before the composer and lyricist begin their work.
But a musical book is not merely a play with songs inserted. Even if the starting
document looks like a play, the finished product will not. Look at the book of any
published musical and eliminate the lyrics. Read it carefully.
The first thing you will notice is that if this work were to be performed without the songs it
would be very short. Next you will begin to feel that the characters are somewhat unidimensional, and don’t seem to develop a whole lot.
The brevity of the book grows out of the need to make room for songs. A page of
dialogue may take a minute of stage time, but a page of lyrics might take 5 minutes or
even longer. If there are to be anywhere from 12 to 20 songs, each lasting 3 – 5
minutes, the dialogue better be brief and to the point or the audience will have to sleep
over.
Characters in plays, good plays anyway, tend to be fully rounded people. They are
complex in their psychology, people who develop during the evening to a new condition.
The audience discovers the total character bit by bit, here a nuance, there a broad
stroke.
In a musical, characters tend to be exactly who and what they first seem. In My Fair
Lady, Eliza is a scrappy little cockney who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to
speak her piece. Later, after Higgins has invested time (however irritably) in training her
to speak properly, she sings “Just You Wait, ‘Enry ‘Iggins” and we see she hasn’t
changed much inside even if she is gaining elegance on the outside.
Musical books aren’t merely shorter than plays; they are different. The characters are
different, and the dialogue is different. No long, juicy soliloquies – that’s material for the
score. No poetic excursions in dialogue – that’s for the lyricist to do. The dialogue is
generally short and staccato, almost telegraphic in style: say what you have to and get
to the next song.
If that is an over-simplification, it is an accurate one.
Musical books and plays differ in structure as well. However, here the difference is
becoming less obvious that it used to be. Stagecraft has progressed and plays are not
as static as they once were. Not too long ago (okay, 50 years ago) the program for a
play would list three acts, but only one or two locations. The program would say “ACT II,
The Same, Three Weeks Later,” or, “During Scene 2, the curtain will be lowered for 30
seconds to denote the passage of 3 years,” and that sort of thing. Musicals, though,
tended to have many scenes occurring in many different locations. The structure of
musicals is more cinematic, or if you prefer, Shakespearean, in style as opposed to
plays which often stick to one location. Contemporary playwrights have discovered the
virtue of using the theatricality of the theatre to take us to many locations without
necessarily building unwieldy sets to shore up our imaginations, and this difference
between plays and musicals is disappearing. Shakespeare would approve: everything
old is new again.
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Also structurally, plays tend to be about a single character whereas musicals are
generally about pairs of people. True, in the last forty years there have been a number
of musicals about a leading lady (Gypsy, Mame, Dolly, etc.) but in all those cases there
was a man around somewhere, at least part of the time. He just never quite emerged as
much more than a prop for Ethel, Angela or Carol.
In the early days of musical comedy the pairs were usually vapid young couples whose
on-again, off-again romance constituted a plot against which the authors could place
charming songs and into which comedians of the day could insert some of their best
routines, whether the routines had anything to do with the main plot or not – usually not.
Now the pairings tend to be those of more mature people and the impediments to pairing
are generally more significant than mistaken identities, misunderstanding and the like.
Sometimes the feelings in plays can be intellectualized as in shows like Who’s Afraid of
Virginia Woolf and anything by Pinter or Pirandello, but this is not true of musicals – at
least not the successful ones. Musicals communicate with the solar plexus rather than
the brain. Also, successful plays are sometimes written with a pessimistic or dark theme
whereas musicals are usually optimistic and sunny. Notice the usually.
Musicals and plays can be contrasted for pages without getting much closer to a
definition. For a truer understanding of the differences in the two forms, read some
plays that served as the basis for musical shows (Green Grow the Lilacs, Liliom, Romeo
and Juliet, The Matchmaker) and then read the musicals that resulted (Oklahoma,
Carousel, West Side Story and Hello, Dolly). You will see differences, and surely you will
find the musicals are more romantic than the plays.
Musical books have certain characteristics which are not necessarily different from
plays, but which are the sine qua non of musical theatre: Feeling, Subplot, Romance,
Comedy and Variety or Change. Some plays exhibit some of these characteristics
certainly, but successful musicals exhibit all of them.
Feeling
Feelings come first in musical theatre. Feelings, and a character’s thoughts about
feelings are the soul of any musical because it is the feelings that produce the songs.
Characters sing when they can’t contain their feelings.
Bookwriters despair because intense feelings produce their very best dialogue – and of
course, that always ends up as part of a song. Songwriters, you see, are thieves by
definition (in the field of musical theatre). It can’t be helped. The audience doesn’t want
a lot of pretty dialogue in a musical, it wants to hear wonderful songs.
This is not to say bookwriters shouldn’t write all that pretty stuff. Consider these
unconnected lines: If you know the standard musical theatre literature, you won’t have
any difficulty figuring out which well-known theatre songs “borrowed” these ideas:
“A bran’ new surrey with fringe on the top four inches long – and yeller! And two
white horses a-rarin’ and faunchin’ to go!”
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“I know that – that – if I loved anyone – it wouldn’t make any difference to
me what he – even if I died for it.”
“But you wouldn’t marry a rough guy like me – that is – eh – if you
loved me – “
“Yes, I would – if I loved you…”
Any bookwriter or playwright who was able to inspire the songs “The Surrey With the
Fringe on Top” (Oklahoma) and “If I Loved You” (Carousel) should be proud – and if he
or she isn’t, then shoot ‘em.
Take note: Rodgers and Hammerstein did not take a scalpel and make a slit in the text
of the play into which they could insert a song. They took a part of the play and
musicalized it. What’s left is just a bit of dialogue leading to the song, which contains the
meat of the scene.
More important even than the words that inspire the song, or even the lyrics of the song
itself: the moment for the character. In the first example, Curly is trying to impress
Laurey into begging him to take her to the box social – because he wants to go with her
but hasn’t got the gumption to come right out and say so. We don’t have to guess about
the feeling that is urging him on!
In the second example, Liliom and Julie have just met and are attracted to one another.
He’s trying to find out just how far he can get with her by being brash and even a little
crude, and she’s showing her spirit without relinquishing her self-control. Again, the
feelings are evident. In fact, without these feelings, the songs that power the shows
wouldn’t exist.
It’s not only boy-meets-girl feelings that work in musicals. What is Mama Rose feeling
when she sings Rose’s Turn? Mame, when she sings If He Walked Into My Life? Or,
for that matter, what is Sweeney Todd feeling when he sings to his razors, “These are
my friends, see how they glisten?”
Subplot
Historically, it’s easy to spot the reasons for subplot: Give the ingénue a change of
costume, provide some comic relief, let the supporting characters do a scene in one
while the set changes, etc.
Today, the subplot serves some of those same functions, but they aren’t all as
necessary as they used to be. Stagecraft has improved, for one thing, and the form has
grown in sophistication. So, why do we need subplot?
For one thing, since the characters in a musical are so transparent, and the stories so
straight-forward and simple, the show would be over in a trice without subplots. More
importantly, it allows time for the main plot to “cook.” That is, if we are anticipating a
moment of crisis for the main character because of something that has just happened,
we don’t have to propel ourselves directly to that crisis. We can delay the anticipated
scene with the subplot. This creates a kind of intensity. The bigger the crisis, the longer
we want to delay it. Those of you who are old enough to remember the movie, Ben Hur,
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will remember waiting for hours to see the damned chariot race…and if you were young
enough at the time, it was worth the wait.
Subplot exists in every musical show written in the past 50 years that has had any but
the most ephemeral success.
Does anyone want to see Oklahoma! without the Ado Annie/Ali Hakim/Will Parker
triangle? Or The Most Happy Fella without Cleo and Herman? Sometimes the subplot
grows to nearly rival the main plot. Which couple is Guys And Dolls mainly about?
The subplots of the great musicals are sometimes suggested by their sources.
However, comparing the originals with their sources, we find the musicals always
develop the subplots more completely, sometimes inventing them, other times simply
bringing off-stage events from the source on-stage for the musical.
Romance
It used to be boy-meets-girl. That was the whole thing. Now it’s person-meetssignificant-other, and that’s just the beginning. The love affairs of Laurey, Julie Jordan,
Nellie Forbush and Annie Oakley have been replaced by Bobby’s inability to love
anybody in Company, Tevye’s love for his daughters in Fiddler On The Roof, and
Sweeney Todd’s passion for revenge in Sweeney Todd, The Demon Barber Of Fleet
Street.
Love, hatred, or both, human relationships are at the center of all musical theatre,
because relationships and the way characters look at them are the richest source of
theatre songs.
Comedy
In the old days, this was so important the shows were called musical comedies – as
opposed to musical shows, musicals or (God help us all) Music Theatre.
Long ago writers began to tackle more serious themes in musical theatre, but comedy
persists and will continue to be there even in the most ambitious musicals. West Side
Story has “Officer Krupke” and “America,” Fiddler has “If I Were A Rich Man” and “Do
You Love Me?” Nine has “A Phone Call From The Vatican,” and A Chorus Line has
“Dance 10, Looks 3.”
Every show offers an opportunity to laugh out loud somewhere. Both the book and the
score will reflect this. There’s no need to belabor the point. Most dramatic narratives
contain some element of comedy for relief if nothing else. Consider the drunken
gatekeeper in the Scottish Play.
Variety or Change
Musicals change constantly, a little like MTV, but maybe not quite so fast. That’s part of
the appeal. The multi-scene, cinematic structure evolved in order to provide something
for everyone. Early musical comedies were little more than pastiches of style – so many
ballads, so many perky tunes, so many comedic songs, all strung out on the merest
suggestion of a plot that could change at will to make room for a good number.
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Changing the set, or the need to do so, also required variety in material. Short scenes
between as few as two characters, or songs for only one person were written to be
performed in one while the set was changed behind a traveler, or drawn curtain.
Given the constantly changing form, audiences have been reluctant to give it up.
Stagecraft has progressed and we no longer need cross-overs or little scenes in one.
Plots have definitely thickened and it’s now character and story which determine the
need for singing, not simply a terrific new tune the songwriters have written.
But we still see variety. There is as much variety in a good musical as there ever was in
an English music hall – and for the same reason. If you don’t like what’s immediately
before you, wait a sec…it’ll change in a bit and there’s a good chance you’ll like the next
thing better.
Costumes change, sets change, tempos change, scenes make us cry, scenes make us
laugh, now a solo, now a production number, now a ballad, now a comedy song. A
musical is a theatrical kaleidoscope of book, music, lyrics, dance and production
elements.
Adaptations
A quick look at the literature is all we need to realize that adaptations are the norm in
musical theatre rather than the exception.
This is probably because it is such a complex form. So many variables must be
balanced by the creators of a musical that it helps to have an existing structure to work
with, rather than having to create that as well.
New writers will either avoid adaptations, or adapt only from material in the Public
Domain if they want to find productions of their work, since producers at the entry level
of production usually don’t have the resources to acquire the rights to currently
copyrighted pieces.
Adaptation involves several steps. If the property is a play, one of the first steps the
adaptors must take is to open up the structure.
Since plays are frequently geographically static, new locations must be imagined or
borrowed from the text. In the play we may hear about something that happened in
Grand Central Station. In the musical version we will see that scene.
If the source is something else – a novel or a movie, for instance – some of this work will
already have been done. In fact, the adaptors may have to trim the material down to
size, especially if the source is a novel.
Writers need to spend some time dreaming about their adaptations, looking for ways to
make the material their own. It is important to remember that the source is only a takeoff point.
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Indeed, if the source is whole and complete to begin with, the adaptation might not work.
The best sources are things that didn’t quite work in their original form. This gives the
adaptors someplace to go with their treatment of the material.
Bookwriters looking for sources should look for what the material doesn’t but might
contain. What can you, with your particular point of view, add to the work?
Structural adjustments, both to the locations of the scenes and to the actual content of
the story will be needed.
In planning an adaptation, the elements of feeling, subplot, romance, comedy and
variety should be supplied if they are not contained in the original. It’s probably best not
to do this too scientifically, however. Dream about the project, make it your own, and
then see what’s there. If you’ve dreamed enough and done your homework, don’t be
surprised to find feeling, subplot, romance, comedy and variety.
One of the most common procedures in adaptation must be that of cutting a scene down
to size. This has to happen if there is going to be room for the songs. One of the best
examples is the first scene of Shaw’s Pygmalion as contrasted with the first scene of the
musical, My Fair Lady.
Read both. In Pygmalion, you’ll find almost 9 pages of dialogue before Higgins gets to
the point where he says, “You see this creature with her kerbstone English; the English
that will keep her in the gutter…”
In My Fair Lady, you’ll find slightly more than 3 pages of dialogue before Higgins sings:
“Look at her, a prisoner of the gutters…”
If you examine them closely you will marvel at how the necessary information is
preserved in the adaptation. Nothing is left out, and almost everything is crisp and
important. Also the scene moves with dispatch right to the song.
There are many other examples, but not many better ones.
Something else that sometimes needs to change during the process of adaptation is
character. The character that seemed appropriate to the play won’t always work in the
musical.
For instance, in They Knew What They Wanted, Amy is something of a down-and-out,
bitter, opportunistic little gold-digger. She finds out that Tony is an old man, not young
and handsome like the picture he sent to her and she decides to return to the city. These
are her main concerns: “Ain’t I thrown up my job there? Do you think jobs is easy for a
girl to get? And ain’t I spent every cent I had on my trousseau?…Oh, my God! Oh, my
God! I got to go back and wait on table! What’ll all those girls say when they see me?
And I ain’t even got the price of my ticket!”
However, in The Most Happy Fella, we hardly meet the girl before she sings:
“Somebody somewhere wants me and needs me, and that’s very wonderful to know…”
If you compare musicals with their sources you will find countless examples of writers
making the material their own, and this generally meant making it larger and more
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attractive than the original, often changing it’s emphasis. Shaw’s play Pygmalion is a
sort of social tract about the plight of under-educated people, particularly women. Lerner
and Loewe turned it into a romantic confection.
If the source can’t be enhanced, why does it need to be a musical?
The Score
OK. A musical needs a strong book to succeed. But that doesn’t make it a musical. If
the book is the soul of a musical, the score is the heart. People seldom leave the
theatre quoting the book, but if you’re lucky, they sometimes come out humming one or
more of the tunes.
The elements of a good theatre song are the elements of any song: melody, harmony,
rhythm and lyrics. Each element has a function in the theatre that is perhaps different
from the way the same elements function in other kinds of music.
The most obvious way a theatre song communicates with the audience is via the lyrics,
the words. What distinguished the theatre song from other types is the specificity of
those lyrics. You can find specific imagery in all kinds of songs (particularly in Country
Western ballads) but it isn’t always there in pop songs because something else may
predominate and be enough for success: the beat, an infectious melody, nonsense
syllables, etc.
You’ll seldom find a successful theatre song without specific images in the lyrics,
however. And when you do it will usually turn out to be some sort of presentational
number of the show-within-a-show variety like “A Bushel And A Peck” from Guys And
Dolls.
The words define more than the song. They not only tell us what the character is
thinking, they tell us how the characters think. Subtext is as much a part of a theatre
song as the lyrics are, for without it the songs would have no life. The words are not the
life of the song. It is the life behind the song (subtext) that produces the lyrics, the words
this particular character will sing at this particular moment in his or her life. We can’t
sense that life without specificity in the lyrics. One of the main indicators of subtext is a
character’s diction or choice of words. Unless those choices are specific, the characters
will be undefined, or at least under-defined.
Specificity also helps the audience to hear and hang onto not only the words, but the
larger meaning of the phrases. “Chicks ‘n ducks ‘n geese better scurry” communicates
much more effectively, for instance, than “feathered things ought to get out of the way.”
Once a specific lyrical image has been married to an original melodic line, the
communication is so complete that we can’t hear the music without supplying the words
– nor can we read the words without hearing the music. Try the phrase, “Oh, what a
beautiful morning.” You hear the music, don’t you? Of course you do, unless you have
never heard the song, in which case we will forgive you – for the moment.
Similarly, if you heard the music alone, you would supply the words. People fairly
skipped out of the theatre at early performances of Annie Get Your Gun, singing along
as the orchestra played the music only to “There’s No Business Like Show Business.”
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They could not contain themselves from singing the words. And at the end of West Side
Story, the strains of the song “Somewhere” are heard, and we supply the words silently,
“There’s a place for us, Somewhere,… Someday.” This produces a very sad feeling,
since the stage picture we are looking at is Maria cradling Tony’s dead body.
This is not an accident. Composers and lyricists work very hard to achieve such an
effect. And the words are not the only special part of a theatre song. Other elements
require similar specificity.
A word of caution: At it’s height, the American Musical Theatre was defined by its lyrics.
Written in the vernacular, very highly crafted, filled with imagery, buoyant and optimistic,
even in the face of disaster, hundreds of songs delighted the world for over 40 years, in
the theatre, on the radio, in cabarets, everywhere. The face of popular music has
changed, and this peculiar relationship of Broadway musicals to the Top 40 will never
return. However, putting pop songs into the theatre without making them theatrical is a
recipe for disaster for novices. Today shows are successful doing just this, but they are
either retrospectives of well-know songs by ABBA or Billy Joel, or they are new scores
written by extremely well-known people like Elton John and Tim Rice. Be warned: You
are not Elton John. You are not Tim Rice. Nobody is going to invest ten million dollars
in the sets and costumes and then spend another 20 million dollars advertising your
show. It won’t happen that way.
Pay attention to the elements that make good theatre songs theatrical, and use them,
regardless of what style of music you write.
Lyrics Develop
One of the biggest differences between theatre songs and many pop songs, is the way
theatre itself works. A story is being told. It changes from moment to moment, always
progressing, and not repeating past action periodically, the way a Wagnerian Opera
sometimes does. A song must develop from moment to moment also. It must take us
from the condition that begins the song, to a new condition, a new insight, a new
direction. During the song the character becomes more resolved to act, more afraid to
act, or makes a decision, or convinces herself that everything is coming up roses no
matter what reality seems to be saying.
What a theatre song doesn’t do is merely repeat itself without development. There are
exceptions, particularly in production numbers where the moment is created by the
excitement of the production itself. However, in the title song of “Hello, Dolly” there is a
lot going on, and by the time the lyrics actually do repeat, we are able to sit back and
enjoy watching Dolly Levi welcomed back to the Harmonia Gardens, where she was
afraid no one would remember her.
Keep the need for development uppermost in your mind when you are writing a theatre
song. Ask yourself: what is the song is about, why the character is choosing this
language at this moment, and where will this lead?
Lyrics Rhyme
The words “mine” and “dime” DO NOT RHYME AND THEY NEVER WILL, DAMMIT!
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Nor do singular words like “flower” rhyme with plural words like “hours.”
Theatre lyrics are better when they rhyme exactly rather than when they employ what
are known as near rhymes or slant rhymes. This is not a purist prejudice. It is a function
of the human ear. There is a lot of competition for the audience’s attention in a musical:
choreography, orchestration, costumes, lights, scenery. Perfectly crafted songs,
including exact rhymes, help to organize the lyric for the audience’s ears making the
lyrics easier to both hear and understand. Further, because the structure of a theatre
song, once it is established, lets us know by convention where to expect a rhyme, we
follow the lyric closely, either anticipating the rhyme before it happens or wondering what
in the world it is going to be if that is not obvious. This makes us listen more carefully.
To the craftsman, this means that songs rhyme exactly, and they rhyme in the same
place in the song each time that place occurs. More about song structure in the next
section. Enough to say that once you set up a rhyme scheme in a stanza, something
like abab, where the first and third lines rhyme and the second and fourth lines rhyme,
you must keep that going. Don’t let the next musically identical stanza use the rhyme
pattern aaaa. Everyone will be confused. If the music changes, then the rhyme
structure may also change.
The Music
The melody and harmonies of a theatre song must be organized to support the lyric.
The structure is more important in a theatre song than in any other form. The most
usual structure encountered in the theatre is A-A-B-A. Each A section is identical
(except possibly for the last bar or two, where the second A is leading us to a key
change for the release, and the final A may include an extension of the form to create an
ending). The B section (or bridge or release) will be as different as possible from the A
theme.
Each section is normally (but not always) eight bars long, and the entire refrain is
consequently 32 bars long. One of the most important reasons for the emergence of this
structure is that within a single refrain the main melodic theme is restated three times. If
the song is sung more than once (and they usually are – even though the lyrics may and
should be new during subsequent refrains, or at least contain a development of the idea)
the melody has three chances to impress us each time a refrain occurs. If the musical
theme is at all accessible, there’s a good chance somebody will leave the theatre
humming or whistling it.
This rigid structure also helps in organizing the lyrics. Our ears will be able to predict
when the thought is going to close, for instance, because of this structure. And within
this structure, certain words will rhyme because of their position in the melody – there is
almost never a V-I cadence in a theatre song without a rhyme if it occurs at the end of a
phrase, for instance – and this rhyme pattern will further help us to hear and hang onto
the meaning of the words and phrases as stated above.
The melody repeats, the sounds repeat in rhyme and sometimes the words themselves
repeat. In fact, repetition as evidenced by structure and rhyme is the keystone of a
theatre song. The best example of musical repetition that comes to mind is the song
“Tea For Two” from No, No Nanette. Listen to how often the opening melodic sequence
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repeats. It’s impossible to hear the song even once without being able to hum at least
the first few bars.
Lyrics also repeat, but less often and less completely. In theatre, repetition of an entire
refrain (which is quite common in popular music) is boring because it lacks development.
What does repeat successfully is a key phrase, sometimes a title, which helps to focus
our attention.
An example of lyrical repetition is the song “Just In Time” from The Bells Are Ringing.
Here the title is repeated four times in the first refrain, and the word time is used once by
itself.
Lyrical repetition works in another way in the song “Bewitched, Bothered and
Bewildered” from Pal Joey. In the show, this is a comedy song and the title phrase
always occurs right after a joke. It’s set up in the very beginning, so we know it’s all right
to laugh at the joke – we won’t miss anything we haven’t heard before.
Harmonies in theatre songs range from the simplest I-IV-V construction to the most
complex imaginable. There aren’t any rules. However, you can be sure that simplicity
only works when it occurs by design rather than by virtue of the composer’s limitations.
Conversely, complexity is not to be employed for its own sake. Complex harmonies
need to seem organic to a song’s structure rather than imposed the way a jazz
performer might impose new, complex harmonies on a standard tune. Such
complexities in the theatre must seem to grow from the composer’s creative impression
of the character in the moment.
In fact, any device that seems to be imposed on the material rather than stemming from
it will probably fall flat with an audience.
Rhythm is where theatre songs live. Even the most romantic ballad is generally
accompanied by a steady pulse somewhere in the orchestra that causes us to sway or
tap our toes or finger. A theatre song without a strong sense of rhythm is disappointing
to the audience’s expectations.
Of course, there are places in the score where the rhythm is not the most important
element. Many introductions (or verses) to songs are sung with a rubato feeling, in a
kind of recitative. However, once the rhythm of a song is established, don’t interrupt it
unless you have a very strong reason to do so. Interrupting the rhythm interferes with
the audience’s toe-tapping, and they hate that.
If you are going to interrupt the rhythm, it’s usually better to do so abruptly – on a
character’s entrance perhaps, or with some other attention-getting device, like a
gunshot. At least have a strong dramatic reason to do so…something in the lyric that
requires slowing down and lingering over, or speeding up and glossing over.
Theatre songs fall into four basic categories. Like anything else you attempt to
categorize, there is a lot of overlap between categories when you get right down to it.
However, for the purpose of discussion, the categories are useful. Ballads, Charm
Songs, Comedy Songs and Musical Scenes are the four types of songs we can identify
in any musical score. In fact, it would be difficult to find a score that doesn’t contain
examples of all four types, because of the need for variety that pervades the form.
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Ballads
A ballad is a song with a serious lyrical intention that is characterized by the legato
feeling of the music. That is, the content of the song is usually something we take
seriously and the music is smooth and flowing.
It is the legato feeling of the music that really defines the song. In other words, I would
tend to call a bouncy tune with serious words something else, whereas I would call a
smooth, flowing melody with a lighter content a ballad.
Ballads are used for many dramatic reasons, but the most common is probably a love
song of some kind or other. Examples abound, and you can select your favorites. “If
Ever I Would Leave You” is a typical ballad of the love song variety. Although the song
is performed in the show Camelot with a very strong rhythmic pulse, the melody is very
legato in style. Notice, also, how the words are arranged to make this possible.
The only consonant that could be considered harsh in the opening title phrase is the “v”
in ever and leave, and neither sound prevents the easy motion of the lyric. Say the
phrase, “If Ever I Would Leave You.” One word blends into the next effortlessly –
making this very easy to sing in the legato style of the music.
Also, the phrases tend to end with round, open sounds – “Knowing how in Spring I’m
bewitched by you soooooooo” – so the singer can sustain the ends of phrases with an
attractive sound.
If a ballad is defined by the character of the music, the definition must be supported by
the sound and content of the words.
Certainly not all ballads are boy-meets-girl love songs. One of the most interesting is
from Oklahoma! The song “Lonely Room” is used to humanize a character. Jud is the
villain, but rather than the evil, leering gent of earlier melodramas, he’s characterized as
a psychologically disturbed murderer who craves physical love. Here the song really
helps the audience understand and even fear the character. The words are effective,
and the music is sometimes balladic and legato, other times abrupt and staccato,
reflecting the schizoid nature of both the song’s content and the character.
It’s not at all surprising to hear this sort of thing from Sweeney Todd, The Demon Barber
of Fleet Street, but it certainly wasn’t the norm in the days of Oklahoma!
Another interesting use of a ballad is the song “Far From The Home I Love” in Fiddler
On The Roof. This song explores the drama with a simple eloquence and causes the
central character to re-examine his priorities when his daughter sings it. Again, the lyrics
support the style of the music with soft consonants – “Far from the home I love/Yet there
with my love, I’m home.
Charm Songs
If ballads are defined by the legato melody, charm songs are defined by the rhythm – not
merely the rhythm in the accompaniment, but also the rhythmic syncopation of the tune
itself.
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The lyrics to a charm song are usually optimistic and not as serious or ambitious as
those of a ballad, and the words will contain lots of good, hard consonants and rhythmic
phrases that lend themselves to syncopation.
The quintessential charm song must surely be “The Surrey With The Fringe On Top”
from Oklahoma! The lyric is narrative and percussive, the tune is rhythmic and reflects
the content of the words, and the effect in the theatre is charm beyond belief.
Charm songs are not hard to find. They are the mainstay of a score, outnumbering
ballads and comedy songs by at least two to one. Consider just a couple and examine
how the words and music work together to create the rhythmic unity that produces such
a high degree of charm in the theatre.
In “Getting To Know You,” for instance, the words “getting to” provide that delicious
opening triplet, and they repeat several times: “getting to like you, getting to hope you
like me.” Eventually the words change, “putting it (still the triplet) my way but nicely/You
are precisely/My cup of tea.” Listen to the effect of the consonants in that phrase. It’s
percussive, and the music there gives up the pretty little triplet to let the words out
precisely, then the music follows with triplets in the accompaniment. The construction is
elegant, and the effect is delicious.
In the song “Once In Love With Amy,” the verse or introduction sets the tone early with
its “boom, boom, boom, boom” heart beat silliness. Again, the words assist the form:
“Once you’re kissed by Amy/Tear up your list, it’s Amy.” Percussive consonants and
rhythmic phrases so the tune can syncopate its way into your soul.
Comedy Songs
Ballads and charm songs are characterized by the style of the music, but in comedy
songs the words take precedence. Frequently the music to a comedy song is very
attractive and charming, but the audience seldom cares as long as it supports the lyrics,
which make us laugh out loud.
Certainly the definition of a comedy song is that it contains lyrics that cause us to laugh
out – more than once. If it only makes us grin or chuckle occasionally, it’s a charm song.
Comedy songs make us laugh out loud.
Topics for comedy songs are usually in the nature of a complaint of some kind, may be
dripping with self-pity and always are rooted in some sort of problem. In “I’m Just A Girl
Who Cain’t Say No,” Ado Annie thinks she has a terrible disease. She believes that the
other girls don’t have the feelings she experiences when she’s with a “feller.”
“Adelaide’s Lament” in Guys And Dolls is that her perpetual cold is probably
psychosomatically induced by her unwed status.
In Brigadoon, a young girl’s search for “The Love Of My Life” thinly disguises her
questionable virtue.
Tevye’s “If I Were A Rich Man” from Fiddler is mainly about his misconceptions of
wealth.
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In each case there is an element of complaint – and something real to complain about:
poverty, lack of virtue, chronic sniffles or the painful realities of puberty. Normally a
complaint is not attractive and writers eschew self-pity like the plague – and they ought
to! Except when writing comedy songs.
Comedy songs are much harder to write than they are to define. However, there’s at
least one in every successful score, and two or three are to be hoped for. Audiences
love to laugh. When attending a musical, the audience’s expectation is that a fair
amount of entertainment will ensue. Originally, remember, the form was called musical
comedy, and the responsibility to help an audience laugh remains strongly a part of the
genre.
Musical Scenes
Musical scenes aren’t really a fourth category because either one of the above three can
be a musical scene. The definition of a musical scene is really the same as the
definition of a non-musical scene. It’s a dramatic event with a beginning, middle and
end, powered by conflict and characterized by dramatic action.
Definitions of dramatic action will keep you awake nights, but the one we use is: The
exercise of a character’s will in the face of an opposing force.
Sometimes whole scenes are musicalized. The example that most often comes to mind
is the soliloquy from Carousel. It begins as a reflective moment and contains elements
of charm in the songs “My Boy Bill” and “My Little Girl.” But at the end of the song, the
young father-to-be realizes what his responsibilities will be. Consider the final lyrics: “I
never knew how to make money/But I’ll try, by God, I’ll try/I’ll go out and make it or steal
it or take it/Or die!
The reflection has caused him to make a decision, and we know he will act on it.
Definitely a musical scene.
There are others, and a musical scene does not need to have such dire consequences
as the Soliloquy does to qualify. “You Must Meet My Wife” from A Little Night Music is a
comedic musical scene. During the song, Frederick gives Desiree permission to hate
his wife, Anne, by revealing her to be a perfectly horrible little simp, which she is, and
Desiree announces her decision, albeit cleverly and comedically, to do the little witch in.
“Tonight” from West Side Story is an extended musical scene arising from a ballad.
Ballads, charm songs and comedy songs can all serve as the basis for musical scenes.
The key to the definition is dramatic action. Many songs occur prior to or after the
primary action in a scene. This way we learn the characters’ aspirations and reactions
to their environments. A music scene occurs during the primary action of a scene.
Spotting Songs
We’ve already said that songs occur when the characters can’t contain their emotions,
but those moments aren’t always obvious at first glance. If composers and lyricists find
a topic for a song that seems to explore the character or the moment, it will fall to the
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bookwriters to find a way to produce the song in the book, to let the emotions build to the
point where the song can erupt.
However, there are a half a dozen places in any musical where there will be music no
matter what. These are: The opening, a plot starter a few minutes later (usually the
central character’s “want” song), the first act finale, the second act opening, the main
character’s moment of realization (usually a springboard to the end) and the finale.
Historically, the finale has been a reprise, or even an olio or medley of several songs
from the score. Sometimes, a new song is introduced at the end, but this is not
advisable unless the song contains important information about the central character
and his or her realization.
Opening songs are very difficult to write, and are generally the last thing to be set by the
writers. The rest of the show needs to be defined before it becomes clear what will draw
the audience into the show.
One good example of how crucial the opening is, is the show A Funny Thing Happened
On The Way To The Forum. The show was not working for audiences out of town.
Several openings were tried, including the song “Love Is In The Air,” a charm song. That
song misled the audience into thinking the show would be a romantic comedy about
young love, when it was in reality a burlesque farce about a slave searching for his
freedom.
The creators of the show struggled with the opening, and the song “Comedy Tonight”
was finally selected while the show was still trying out on the road – and it worked. The
song said, in effect, don’t expect anything important, don’t take anything you see
seriously, and above all, let your hair down and laugh. The audience took the song’s
advice to heart and the show was a success.
There are other stories about last minute changes in material. But it doesn’t really
matter whether the opening song is written first, last or somewhere in between as long
as it functions to draw the audience into the world of the show.
Sometimes it’s a mood setter, like “Oh, What A Beautiful Mornin’,” or an orientation like
“Comedy Tonight.” In My Fair Lady, the opening song sets up the argument that moves
the action of the play – “Why Can’t The English? (Learn To Speak).
Each opening is different in intention and effect, but each functions to draw the audience
into the world of the show.
Before very long there will be a plot starter. This is usually a song in which one of the
main characters tells us what he or she wants. In Oklahoma! we learn what the young
couple don’t want – “Don’t throw bouquets at me…” and it definitely provokes the action
of the play. Laurey’s coy rejection of Curly opens the door for Jud, and the play happens.
In My Fair Lady, Eliza sings “All I want is a room somewhere/Far away from the cold
night air…” and we’re hooked. Her aspirations are realistic enough for us to approve
and hope she achieves them, and again the play happens as she tries to get what she
wants by taking the elocution lessons she feels will help her get an indoor job.
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The first act of My Fair Lady climaxes with the Embassy Waltz during which Eliza will
dance with the dreaded Karpathy – and we are breathless to know whether or not he will
be able to expose her as a fraud. This gives us something to ponder during
intermission, and a reason to come back.
My Fair Lady’s second act opens with Pickering congratulating Higgins in the song “You
Did It.” Our intermission curiosity is satisfied immediately – we know they were
successful. However, the song leaves Eliza out of the celebration in the most obvious
way, and the arrogance of the two men in their omission is what drives the second act
forward. It makes Eliza angry, and she reacts by leaving.
My Fair Lady also has a fine example of a moment of realization song in the moment
when Henry Higgins sings “Damn, damn, damn…I’ve grown accustomed to her face.”
If you don’t musicalize those important moments, you’ll disappoint the audience. Of
course there will be other songs along the way. The finale is generally a reprise
because the important action of the play is obviously ended. Previously unheard
material won’t work at the very end unless there is unfinished business within the play to
be accomplished by the new song.
Whenever a new song occurs at the end it is usually followed by one or more short
reprises of material heard earlier because repetition helps the audience remember. The
orchestra will play exit music from the score, and this will generally be the song that was
repeated most often during the evening, for the same reason.
Book, music and lyrics properly welded together and combined with costumes, sets,
lights, performers, an orchestra and choreography – that’s all it takes…
…t’ain’t easy, McGee!
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