Who are some of the best songwriter lyrics wise? All genres and eras, doesn't matter

Lennon was a fucking hack within the context of the Beatles
Only good solo thing he was ever involved with was Plastic Ono (and that's when he wasn't too involved)

Harrison is decent but overrated in terms of solo work and he was inconsistent with the Beatles

but Across The Universe is the best Beatles song

Of war and peace the truth just twists
Its curfew gull it glides
Upon four-legged forest clouds
The cowboy angel rides
With his candle lit into the sun
Though its glow is waxed in black
All except when 'neath the trees of Eden.

The lamppost stands with folded arms
Its iron claws attached
To curbs 'neath holes where babies wail
Though it shadows metal badge
All and all can only fall
With a crashing but meaningless blow
No sound ever comes from the Gates of Eden.

The savage soldiers sticks his head in sand
And then complains
Unto the shoeless hunter who's gone deaf
But still remains
Upon the beach where hound dogs bay
At ships with tattooed sails
Heading for the Gates of Eden.

With a time-rusted compass blade
Aladdin and his lamp
Sits with Utopian hermit monks
Side saddle on the Golden Calf
And on their promises of paradise
You will not hear a laugh
All except inside the Gates of Eden.

Relationships of ownership
They whisper in the wings
To those condemned to act accordingly
And wait for succeeding kings
And I will try to harmonize with songs
The lonesome sparrow sings
There are no kings inside the Gates of Eden.

The motorcycle black Madonna
Two-wheeled gypsy queen
And her silver-studded phantom cause
The gray flannel dwarf to scream
As he weeps to wicked birds of prey
Who pick up on his bread crumb sins
And there are no sins inside the Gates of Eden.

The kingdoms of Experience
In the precious winds they rot
While paupers change possessions
Each one wishing for what the other has got
And the princess and the prince
Discuss what's real and what is not
It doesn't matter inside the Gates of Eden.

The foreign sun, it squints upon
A bed that is never mine
As friends and other strangers
From their fates try to resign
Leaving men wholly totally free
To do anything they wish to do but die
And there are no trials inside the Gates of Eden.

At dawn my lover comes to me
And tells me of her dreams
With no attempts to shovel the glimpse
Into the ditch of what each one means
At times I think there are no words
But these to tell what's true
And there are no truths outside the Gates of Eden.

Neil Young, Leonard Cohen, Evan Stephens Hall (of Pinegrove. I'll throw the "&" EP out as an example.), Dylan obviously (Norton canonized "Boots of Spanish Leather" in its Anthology of Poetry), I'll throw Kendrick in here for a couple of songs on GKMC, love me some Louis Armstrong, and I'm going to throw Robert Hunter/The Grateful Dead (he was their main lyricist, but it's impossible to give credit to any one person when The Dead are involved). This is a big question though OP.

Oh, and King David - wrote the Psalms yo.

Never seen Armstrong recommended as a lyricist. Mind giving an example?

>Kendrick

>not A Day In Life or Penny Lane

Dippermouth Blues.

The second best after ATU is I'm Only Sleeping.

Mark my words, they'll canonize "Sing About Me."

Progressive/Outlaw Country in general is a genre rife with good lyricists.

[Prologue:]
In the constellation of Cygnus, there lurks a mysterious, invisible force: the black hole
of Cygnus X-1...

Six Stars of the Northern Cross
In mourning for their sister's loss
In a final flash of glory
Nevermore to grace the night...

[1]
Invisible to telescopic eye
Infinity, the star that would not die

All who dare to cross her course
Are swallowed by her fearsome force

Through the void
To be destroyed
Or is there something more?
Atomized...at the core?
Or through the Astral Door?
To soar...

[2]
I set a course just east of Lyra
And northwest of Pegasus
Flew into the light of Deneb
Sailed across the Milky Way
On my ship, the 'Rocinante'
Wheeling through the galaxies
Headed for the heart of Cygnus
Headlong into mystery

The x-ray is her siren song
My ship cannot resist her long
Nearer to my deadly goal
Until the black hole
Gains control...

[3]
Spinning, whirling
Still descending
Like a spiral sea
Unending...

Sound and fury
Drown my heart
Every nerve
Is torn apart...

[I. Prelude]

When our weary world was young
The struggle of the ancients first began
The gods of love and reason
Sought alone to rule the fate of man

They battled through the ages
But still neither force would yield
The people were divided
Every soul a battlefield

[II. Apollo / Dionysus]

[Apollo: Bringer Of Wisdom]
'I bring truth and understanding
I bring wit and wisdom fair
Precious gifts beyond compare
We can build a world of wonder
I can make you all aware
I will find you food and shelter
Show you fire to keep you warm
Through the endless winter storm
You can live in grace and comfort
In the world that you transform'

The people were delighted
Coming forth to claim their prize
They ran to build their cities
And converse among the wise
But one day the streets fell silent
Yet they knew not what was wrong
The urge to build these fine things
Seemed not to be so strong
The wise men were consulted
And the Bridge of Death was crossed
In quest of Dionysus
To find out what they had lost

[Dionysus: Bringer Of Love]
'I bring love to give you solace
In the darkness of the night
In the Heart's eternal light
You need only trust your feelings
Only love can steer you right
I bring laughter, I bring music
I bring joy and I bring tears
I will soothe your primal fears
Throw off those chains of reason
And your prison disappears'

The cities were abandoned
And the forests echoed song
They danced and lived as brothers
They knew love could not be wrong
Food and wine they had aplenty
And they slept beneath the stars
The people were contented
And the gods watched from afar
But the winter fell upon them
And it caught them unprepared
Bringing wolves and cold starvation
And the hearts of men despaired

[III. Armageddon: The Battle Of Heart and Mind]

The universe divided
As the heart and mind collided
With the people left unguided
For so many troubled years
In a cloud of doubts and fears
Their world was torn asunder into hollow
Hemispheres

Some fought themselves, some fought each other
Most just followed one another
Lost and aimless like their brothers
For their hearts were so unclear
And the truth could not appear
Their spirits were divided into blinded
Hemispheres

Some who did not fight
Brought tales of old to light
'My Rocinante sailed by night
On her final flight'
To the heart of Cygnus' fearsome force
We set our course
Spiralled through that timeless space
To this immortal place

[IV. Cygnus: Bringer Of Balance]

I have memory and awareness
But I have no shape or form
As a disembodied spirit
I am dead and yet unborn
I have passed into Olympus
As was told in tales of old
To the city of Immortals
Marble white and purest gold...

I see the gods in battle rage on high...
Thunderbolts across the sky...
I cannot move, I cannot hide...
I feel a silent scream begin inside...

Then all at once the chaos ceased
A stillness fell, a sudden peace
The warriors felt my silent cry
And stayed their struggle, mystified

Apollo was atonished
Dionysus thought me mad
But they heard my story further
And they wondered, and were sad

Looking down from Olympus
On a world of doubt and fear
Its surface splintered
Into sorry Hemispheres

They sat a while in silence
Then they turned at last to me
'We will call you Cygnus
The god of Balance you shall be'

[V. The Sphere: A Kind Of Dream]

We can walk our road together
If our goals are all the same
We can run alone and free
If we pursue a different aim
Let the truth of love be lighted
Let the love of truth shine clear
Sensibility
Armed with sense and liberty
With the heart and mind united in a single
Perfect
Sphere

Vladimir Vysotsky was a famous bard from the Soviet Union and is still seen as a legend in Russia. I'm sure most of you don't understand Russian and can't fully appreciate his writing, but he is fantastic. Many of his works revolved around nature, hiking, society and war. He couldn't flat out criticize the USSR, but many of his songs were satire of soviet society.

youtube.com/watch?v=-KdPhGBwkvE

My Gypsy Song
Into my dream creep yellow lights,
And I shout myself hoarse in my sleep:
"Wait a bit, wait a bit -
It'll get better in the morning."
But in the morning nothing is right,
It's no fun anymore:
You either smoke on empty stomach,
Or drink from a hangover.

In the drinking-house there is a familiar sight
Of a green shot, white napkins, -
It's a heaven for beggars and buffoons,
I feel like a caged bird in it.
The church dissolves in stench and darkness ,
The deacons are smoking the incense...
No, nothing is right in here, either,
Nothing is the way it's supposed to be!

I hurry off onto the hill,
So nothing would come before me, -
There grows an alder on the hill
And under the hill - a cherry tree.
If only the ivy twined the slope, -
It would bring me a slight consolation,
If there only was something else...
But no, nothing is the way it should be!

I go off onto the field, along the river.
Tons of light, no God.
Corn-flowers in the clear field
And a road leading far away.
Along the road - a deep forest
With evil witches.
And at the end of that road -
A guillotine and axes.

Somewhere horses are dancing to the beat,
Half-heartedly and smoothly..
Nothing is right along the road,
And it's no better at the end of it.
And not the church or the drinking-house -
Nothing is holy!
No, folks, nothing is right!
Nothing is right, folks...

No question

BLACK HOLE SUN
WONT YOU COME?
WASH AWAY THE RAAAIIIN

There is nothing wrong in being pleb ;)

Nick Cave, Leonard Cohen, Michael Gira, Frank Zappa, Neil young, Bob Dylan.
Only these people desu

stephen malkmus

Scott Walker, Joni Mitchell or Jeffrey Lamar Williams

oh hey, Veeky Forums is still just as pleb as /mu/ when it comes to music

Hugo von Hofmannsthal

Aha aha aha
Aha
aha
aha

Was ist los mit dir mein Schatz? Aha
Geht es immer nur bergab? Aha
Geht nur das was du verstehst? Aha
Is this what you got to know?
Love you do you didn't show?

Ich lieb' dich nicht du liebst mich nicht
Ich lieb' dich nicht du liebst mich nicht
Ich lieb' dich nicht du liebst mich nicht
Ich lieb' dich nicht du liebst mich nicht

Da da da
da da da
da da da
da da da
da da da
(Ich lieb' dich nicht du liebst mich nicht)
Da da da
(Ich lieb' dich nicht du liebst mich nicht)
Da da da
(Ich lieb' dich nicht du liebst mich nicht)
Da da da
(Ich lieb' dich nicht du liebst mich nicht)
Da da da
da da da
da da da
da da da

Beat on the brat
Beat on the brat
Beat on the brat with a baseball bat
Oh yeah, oh yeah, uh-oh.

What can you do?
What can you do?
With a brat like that always on your back
What can you do? (lose?)

Kevin Barnes from of Montreal:

I recoil at the sound
The milking of vipers onto the barren dirt
Just steps from the orchard
Looking beneath the higher tiers
The satans of the vicious yayo society

I can't get no rest
My dreams are corrosive
Nightmares are vampires, too
My thoughts are voltaic
I'm such a downer
Huh
Now I'm on my own
No violence on the telephone
You're a child of neglect
But you turned out okay
Ooh
The way my psyche rioted
I was just as shot
Your new lover like a hearse
An idiot, a failure
Ooh

On a drunk with dark globe and doom invocations
Of somebody’s doped demon brother
The opiate drone of her gaze
The anodyne days
The cracked bas-relief
Of Hellenic summer
The cabalic kilo

I know that she’s only trying to score
And not very human anymore

The loom has gone lame
The pattern’s insane
The agents have wigged out
The pulse is corrupt
La Chota’s a blank
No function

We seven of the Aegean sleep deprivation experiment
Stumbling around Monastiraki Square
Crawling to her in my undress
My heart is a mess
The ruins depress
The shrill of our withering depths
The din is intense

I sense that she’s finally turned the lock
But I just want my Anatolian Rock

I’ve been through so many deaths
That I don’t know which name to answer to
Fidelity breeds madness
I trashed the heights, the peak

And now i’m on my own
No violence on the telephone
You’re a child of neglect
But you turned out ok

The way my psyche rioted
I was just as shot
Your new lover like a hearse
Our Iliad of failure

I recoil at the sound
The milking of vipers onto the barren dirt
And just past the orchards
Lurking beneath the Hyades
Satins of vicious YaYo societies

I can’t get no rest
My dreams are corrosive
Nightmares scalp empires too
My thoughts are voltaic
I’m such a downer, huh?

And now I’m on my own
No violence on the telephone
You’re a child of neglect
But you turned out ok

The way my psyche rioted
I was just as shot
Your new lover like a hearse
Our Iliad of failure

Joanna Newsom senpaitachi

mewithoutyou

Joni Mitchell, Bruce Dickinson, Neil Peart, Cohen. Dylan, Springsteen at times.

Nas, Elliott Smith, Frank Zappa.

Jim Morrison was a poet

The Cocteau Twins

but not a very good one.

lol that pic every fucking time

Jim Steinman
Kris Kristofferson

The correct answer is John Darnielle.

Astronautalis
Aesop Rock
John Darnielle
Bob Dylan

Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell, John Darnielle and Colin Meloy are probably the best. Devendra Banhart, Joanna Newsom, and even Ezra Koenig are pretty good as well.

From the 70s to the early 2000s, lyricism took a backseat toward other musical values like emotionalism, energy, and occasional sonic experimentation.

Tom Waits. Seriously look some of his lyrics up, even if you don't like the music it's genius.

youtube.com/watch?v=YCriE0JA94s

I can't believe that there hasn't been a mention of Townes Van Zandt yet, that man was a lyrical genius

David Tibet
/thread

Agreed, but I still prefer

Eric Idle

There isn't a whole lot of discussion going on ITT

Death grips

"Beware"

I close my eyes and seize it
I clench my fists and beat it
I light my torch and burn it
I am the beast I worship...

And I know soon come my time
For in mine void a pale horse burns
But I fear not the time I'm taken
Past the point of no return.
Wage war like no tomorrow
Cuz no hell there won't be one
For all who deny the struggle
The triumphant overcome

Trips to where, few have been
Out of thin air, upon high winds
Rites begin when the sun descends
Have felt what few will ever know
Have seen the truth beneath the glow,
Of the ebb and flow, where roots of all mysteries grow
I am below, so far below
The bottom line
Transmitting live, transmissions rise
From the depths out of controlled by
Suspended glance of an unblinking eyes
Imminent gaze cast 'pon the path that winds
'Pon the path I find, and claim as mine
To ride the waves, of unrest
Made to make me shine as a testament
To why the ways of the blind will never get
Shit but shanked by my disrespect
Dismiss this life, worship death
Cold blood night of serpent's breath
Exhaled like spells from the endlessness
In the bottomless wells of emptiness
Channeled to invoke what we represent

Secret order
Elitist horde of
Creeping fire
Seizing power
Riders of the lupus hour
Eye on palm
Time is gone
Moonlight drawn
Fly til dawn
Sacrifice to rise beyond
Deep inside the violent calm
Of the coming storm
In blood sworn
To glorify and for life adorn
With all that dies to become unborn

I close my eyes and seize it
I clench my fists and beat it
I light my torch and burn it
I am the beast I worship...
I am the beast I worship

In the time before time eyes 'bove which horns
Curve like psychotropic scythes
And smell of torn flesh bled dry
By hell swarms of pestis flies
Vomiting forth flames lit by
An older than ancient force
That slays this life with no remorse

The spiral storm
Of flames inside
The torch I raise
The force I ride

Feel my vessel go up in flames
Flesh torch lit by thee unnamed
Direct connection to the source
Vestment of unnatural force
Forever burning black torch
Wisdom of the old and true
Possessed by the chosen few
Shining to reveal the ways
Of a darkness that pervades
All that is and ever was
Inferno of witches blood

Worship is not on bended knee
Nature knows not of mercy
To pray is to accept defeat
Power pisses on the weak
Bow and beheaded by the beast
Beggar on a bitches leash
Scum is desperate for relief
Worship is the way I ride
Witching currents through the eye
Of storms that force the false to die
Worship the flames with which I rise
Into apocalyptic skies

Harsh winds flay mine flesh to bone
In splintered skeleton I roam
Wastelands with not to call my own
But the path I walk alone
The hunger burns, within my gut
As my bones turn into dust

And I know soon come my time
For in mine void a pale horse burns
But I fear not the time I'm taken
Past the point of no return
Wage war like no tomorrow, know well there wont we one
For all who deny the struggle
The triumphant overcome ...

I close my eyes and seize it
I clench my fists and beat it
I light my torch and burn it
I am the beast I worship...
I am the beast I worship

One unfamiliar with the work of Mark Edward Smith may be tempted to propose Cohen, for as a poet turning later to the guitar he is surely one of the greatest of those artists and imitators belonging to the mid-century phenomenon of bardic revivalism in Western popular culture.

Others suggest Newsom, her Joycean allusions and metrical precision pleasing their literate sensibilities, and they might well have a case; as a songwriter she is yet without equal in the lifetime of anybody likely to be reading this, transcending both the lingering stereotype of the singer-songwriter as a purely guitar wielding creature and its antithesis of the 'female Bowie' à la Kate Bush. While owing an obvious debt to Morrison's Astral Weeks and Tim Buckley's middle period, she moves beyond the magical realism of the former, which when set against her work seems only to obscure Morrison's relatively conservative poet-with-guitar songwriting, and her lyricism combines with unique vocal stylings to leave the Augustinian semiology of Buckley's lustful inarticulations empty in comparison. In part because of this, however, unlike Cohen, her lyrics do not stand alone. Neither does much of her music — Newsom's strength is in their inseparability.

Those who are familiar with The Fall will already see where my conclusion rests. Indebted to McLuhan and Wyndham Lewis, Smith had already elevated this form to an object. He is no poet, but his prose has been shaped into some of the best poetic lyricism in popular music. If John Cooper Clarke is the 'Bard of Salford', Smith is its industrial unconscious. With an intellect sharper than that of any art school'd post-punk Situationist, a tolerance for alcohol and doses of speed that would have sent Lydon the way of Ian Curtis, and a literary ability extending beyond Imagist allusion into a post-Romantic Objectivism of the Truly Strange, his words and their repetitious moulding develop from rituals to vortexes with a rancor and abrasiveness unmatched by Japanoise poseurs and black metal puritans. He is our Blake and he is not appreciated.

Nice Choice OP. I listened to him all weekend. Folk has God-tier lyrics.

Underrated post

Quorthon (Thomas Forsberg)

this is "go long" by joanna newsom
i think she's an amazing lyricist

Last night, again,
you were in my dreams
several expendable limbs were at stake
you were a prince, spinning rims
all sentiments indian-given
and half-baked
I was brought in on a palanquin
made of the many bodies
of beautiful women
brought to this place to be examined,
swaying on an elephant:
a princess of india
We both want the very same thing.
We are praying
I am the one to save you
But you don't even own,
your own violence
Run away from home-
your beard is still blue
with the loneliness of you mighty men,
with your jaws, and fists, and guitars
and pens, and your sugarlip,
but I've never been to the firepits with you mighty men
Who made you this way?
Who made you this way?
Who is going to bear your beautiful children?
Do you think you can just stop,
when you're ready for a change?
Who will take care of you
when you're old and dying?
You burn in the Mekong,
to prove your worth,
Go Long! Go Long!
Right over the edge of the earth!
You have been wronged,
tore up since birth.
You have done harm.
Others have done worse.
Will you tuck your shirt?
Will you leave it loose?
You are badly hurt.
You're a silly goose.
You are caked in mud,
and in blood, and worse.
Chew your bitter cud,
Grope your little nurse.
Do you know why
my ankles are bound in gauze
(sickly dressage:
a princess of kentucky)?
In the middle of the woods
(which were the probable cause),
we danced in the lodge
like two panting monkeys.
I will give you a call, for one last hurrah.
If this tale is tall, forgive my scrambling.
But you keep palming along the wall,
moving at a blind crawl,
but always rambling.
Wolf-spider, crouch in your funnel nest,
If I knew you, once,
now I know you less,
In the sinking sand,
where we've come to rest,
have I had a hand in your loneliness?
When you leave me alone
in this old palace of yours,
it starts to get to me. I take to walking,
What a woman does is open doors.
And it is not a question of locking
or unlocking.
Well, I have never seen
such a terrible room-
gilded with the gold teeth
of the women who loved you!
Now, though I die,
Magpie, this I bequeath:
by any other name
a jay is still blue
with the loneliness
of you mighty men,
with your mighty kiss
that might never end,
while, so far away,
in the seat of the west,
burns the fount
of the heat
of that loneliness.
There's a man
who only will speak in code,
backing slowly, slowly down the road.
May he master everything
that such men may know
about loving, and then letting go.

N E I L
E
I
L

silver jews is great

aside from that, no more. i got albums with great lyrics, but songwriter albums the silver jews is probably the most dense and poetic you can get. its emotional and accessible without being pretentious

>unironically liking memes

...

A-G-R-E-E-D

...

Wayne stole the melody from Cat Stevens.

the Ulysses of music

I've always been fond of John Dyer Baizley of Baroness, he manages to paint the most vivid pictures, not only with his lyrics but his album artwork is fucking masterful.

I took my black teeth down to the sea
Brother of mine
I washed myself in your steely gaze
We read your name o'er jaguar hide
Brother of mine

I lashed their bodies to the wheeling suns
Brother of mine
You tossed wet bluebirds in the air
I sensed the whetstone's dark embrace
Brother of mine

Tender and rude like a tiger skinned

image: static.urx.io/units/web/urx-unit-loader.gif

We once were lechers, rakes and rogues
Mother of mine you're coming through
We swam with sages, trout and thorns
Father of mine, you're coming through

Dan Bejar of Destroyer
Cat Stevens
John Cale
Built to Spill

Im sorry you aren't able to understand top quality art

Actually I am able to understand top quality art, which is why I posted . I hope you grow out of your memes one day. I remember when I thought Death Grips was cool.

I hope you're joking.

TOWNES
O
W
N
E
S

but Townes would've called himself country.

Kanye West is literally the Shakespeare of the 21st Century.

This is actually awesome thanks bro

>No Bowie

This thread is Shit.

>Evan Stephens Hall (of Pinegrove.
lmao
I met the dude, he was talking to me about when you put your dick back in your pants after pissing and get urine all over the place. Funny dude

Good list.

Well yeah man David Berman is more of a poet than a songwriter anyway. His collection actual air is dope.