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not to bring down your natural high, but ive really got a few major problems with it
Now its obvious that you have talent, but you definately have some things to work on (lol saying your amazing doesnt help anyone progress, so it might get a bit harsh) the major problem i have with this piece is the d@mn rhyming... now i have no problem with rhyming itself, but when someone like you, with awesome potential gets it into their head that they have to rhyme, i really dont like it. The problem is that your so worried about rhyming that you seem to care less about the actual concepts of your writing. I mean come on casks? Its a real word and all... but i wouldnt want to find a person dropping out of a beer keg at a party... are you thinking of caskets? The only other thing you need to work on is imagery, and literary devices. things like imagery really help bring more life to your works, and literary devices like metaphors, similes etc. make it seem more original and gets rid of alot of the cliches that can really ruin a good concept. dont mean to put you down man, always trying to help you... keep at it and good job man, you're well on your way could you crit my piece Arsonist at My Doorstep? id really like to hear what you think about it... |
ah creep, this must be the first piece you've seen of mine. this was meant to be just a simple love song, sweet with a simple guitar part. Look at some of the greatest love songs of all time and you will see a simple lyrical pattern mixed with a simple rhyming scheme - as seen above. Check out my, Next Year (I Wonder) thread... it comes from a different mold. I wrote about what you would see in the song in the original post. This isn't supposed to be about lyrical mastery, just a little something catchy. You don't always need a plethora of literary devices and an overload of imagery to make a song mean something. And again as an example, look at old Elvis Presley songs.
EDIT: also with the casks things, in archeological digs (especially those in Ancient Egypt) they often found that the pharaohs and nobles were buried with items of importance to them in life, and that these items would travel with their soul into the afterlife. It is often said that a persons life could be judged by the items they were burried with. Now, wine was saved in casks back in the ancient days, and coupled with wine is the passion of love, and the idea of wealth in life when the buried person was alive. So now you can see how it applies. And don't think I'm putting you down either. I post on here to get critique, and I thank you for taking the time to critique my piece. I just think sometimes people on here are so worried about writing the perfect song that they miss out on the simple pleasures of music. And as you said that the "rhyming" bothered you, that kind of thing bothers me. I think I had already critiqued your piece before I saw this, so there ya go. |
holy crap... bit epic eh? btw, im thinkin i can find some words to describe it... youre not gettin off that easy :laughing:
black dot |
I loooovveee this. The chorus is sooooo good.
*kudos :) |
Cryogenic
A little somethin' different - wanted to see what you guys thought. This is kind of a Funk/ Folk fusion. Listening to Miles Davis when I wrote this.
I'm a cryogenic monk, reach out for that atom. Smallest things dance like an electric eel. Sleepin' in a tube, I'm cold, cold, cold. Science is my working method, I'm calculating. They say I'll sleep forever, but I'm thinking up a plan. I'll just topple from my test tube tractor beam. Crash on the ground, crash on the ground. I'll free myself from my cryogenic freeze. That's what you get for your calculations. When you're sleepin' ice, thats cold deliberation. When science keeps you alive, that's a pity. But I like the pitter patter of my heartbeat, On the tin rooftop of my chest, I like the blood rushin' like cheetah cubs, through my silly little veins. I missed the air, sweet like the lips of my baby. Alarms and red lights sober me up quickly. I'm a cryogenic bunny escaping the lab. I'm escaping the lab, in my underwear. What's there to see under there? I'm escaping the lab. Labcoats, to and fro, huddled up, like igloo eskimo. I'm an experiment gone bad, yeah, I'm MAN, yeah. I'm escaping the lab with both my feet. Running in .3 time, that's fast for an ice man. I see my opportunity close with the flick of a switch, The man with the hand on the button grins. I'm not escaping the lap. I'm a bad cryogenic man. Oh the Scientists ask me my reasons, I stumble on, my tongue, yeah it's stuck to the top of my mouth, I ramble til I leave my body, yeah leave it low. And while I'm high I say- [chorus] They scribble the answers down and set me free, I'm a cryogenic test man, with no place to be. As the thoughts flooded in , I think of my baby, She's still so cold locked in her cryogenic crib. I wanna kiss her, man I miss her. So I ask them politely. Free my baby and we'll go quietly. Free my baby and we'll go silently. Scribble, scribble with the ink pen. Scientist say. Scientific, cryogenic, hey, we'll lose both today. So my baby is free, yeah cryogenic lovers we. So when we kiss, it sticks, and you can bet... we'll be cryogenic. |
"Time"
You know the feeling. Sometimes you need more time and you just don't have it. And sometimes you want something to last forever... and it just doesn't happen. The saying, "Time is on your side." doesn't apply always... and it's always when you need that saying to be true... this inspired me to write TIME, just a sprawling song without a lyrical chorus, but one that exists in the music.
Time Ryan Crowe 1.11.06 Time, you've marked me in the sway that works me sideways, Front is front and back is back, I toast you time, and that is that, I've been stained with your vomit, mover of clockhands. I have all of you to clean it up, work me over again... time. With a step to the left, its that sway that works me sideways. Yet for all of your complications, There is something to be said about your honesty.... These lines in my face and dust in my joints are brute honesty.... Sometimes, I loved you time, and when I did, it was divine and right when I fell in love with you, You screwed me over, for what felt like forever, and I never ceased to be amazed by you, time. Even though I hate you mostly for what you did to my mother, I guess I can never stay away from you, time. She is old now, can't even bother to lift a finger, to feed herself, I can't say I'm happy with you now, time. Funny how when I need you, I'm always running out of you... But you'll be around forever, and that's where you get me, because you always win out over anyone, time. And the ticking sound will forever sound in the ears of us who can't control you, time. What sickens me most is that it all comes down to you... Stoking your ego like a forest fire in summer, Everyone always asks for more of you... Like some masturbatory clause, our genetic need for you, I want to vomit til my eyes turn red. Where do you turn when you need more of you? Do you just supply it like carbon monoxide, fuming til your eyes dry, You must be so lonely, you'll develop a complex, and it'll never go away, because you've got time! But in yourself, you're perfect and patient. You just make me so sick. No one else realizes it's you, that kills, that makes us wait, that turns us old. TIME. You are a fuckng tease, TIME. I hate you, but I need you, TIME. You're just not worth my... You're taking up all of my... You're just wasting my... You're just a waste of... You. |
bumpin this. What is the consensus on this?
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its not too shabby, i really dont think it could work as a song though.
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seems to be a kind of philosphical rant.
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"The Only Way to Do it is Rather Violent"
This is a song that I wrote in the same vein as 99 Red Balloons. In theory, the song would be somewhat "upbeat" while talking about a pretty morbid subject. Take a read, and know that this is storytelling through song in it's most literal sense. Hope you enjoy it.
"The Only Way To Do It is Rather Violent" As it was told not long ago, by little old men with pipes and all, cherry tobacco fillin' the air, they told of a boy, a future heir. He would know everything there is to know A prophet, for the human race. Seeing all and knowing all, he'd help us all. So the waiters have waited, and the sky has changed. In a little old hospital in ole' Reykjavic, Iceland, a boy is born with golden eyes, born not long ago and the world held it's breath. He grew and grew til the things he knew, filled his head with such horrors and sights, that as soon as he could he found a gun and ended the nightmares he had at night. The newspapers cried, Prophet dead at nine! Shouted from rooftops from Brazil to Japan, oh no, The world had finally gotten outta hand. Leaders conviened in a high up place, to discuss this thing called the human race. Well they argued and argued and nothing was won. Who was the cause of the world's distress? Countries blamed countries and words became fists, These leaders became animals and they shouted to their generals End this madness shoot intecontinental ballistic missles! Ah and you never saw anything so pretty, the world lit up like a roman candle and everything, everything was incinerated and obliterated. Yeah, it was over like that. The power of logic, overcame us all, and from the fall out, people emerged. Covered in dirt and a little discouraged, they set out in search. Survivors conviened in a high up place, to discuss this thing called the human race The child was right when he ended his life, no one wants to be born into war, and once more we are forced to come to terms. And as hoarse voices joined in a chorus, someone sang a song with a bit of guitar, and from the bottom of this mountain, the council looked down and the saw the prophet. Standing next to a guitar player, he sang sweetly, serenading the people up high, looking up at them with golden eyes. This is my gift to you, council on high. A clean slate, make it right. With that he walked from sight, waiting for a day when, he'll be needed again, he will be needed again. he will be needed again. He'll be needed again. In my edit, I took out extraneous yeahs, and ohs - as to improve the piece :D |
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