I started this series last week with the very broad notion that Sondheim’s lyrics excel at conveying contradiction, tension, and complexity.

For this entry, I’m going to remain at that broad level, still not delving into the specifics of language yet, and argue that his writing is exceptional for its inherent sense of the dramatic. By that I mean that his lyrics don’t merely enhance or contribute to a work’s plot, characterization, and thematic significance; rather, they are central to the construction such meaning. In fact, his songs can oftentimes stand alone as dramatic pieces themselves.

Arguably the most oft-cited example of such inherent drama in his lyrics is “The Ladies Who Lunch,” from Company.

In this song near the close of the show, the acerbic character Joanne proposes a drunken toast in scornful reproach of the trendy (younger) women she sees around her, offering the following:

Here’s to the ladies who lunch–
Everybody laugh.
Lounging in their caftans 
And planning a brunch
On their own behalf.

The song shifts from external commentary to accidental introspection as Joanne continues:

And here’s to the girls who just watch–
Aren’t they the best?
When they get depressed,
It’s a bottle of Scotch,
Plus a little jest.
Another chance to disapprove,
Another brilliant zinger,
Another reason not to move,
Another vodka stinger.

The lyric culminates with the sorrowful and angry realization of mortality that underscores the show’s central message: for all of the difficulty of being together, its preferable to facing reality, and our eventual common end, alone.

So here’s to the girls on the go–
Everybody tries.
Look into their eyes,
And you’ll see what they know:
Everybody dies.

The richness of the lyric lies in its structure, beginning as a song in which a wealthy middle-aged woman mocks the superficiality of those around her and eventually folding in on itself as she realizes her own attention to such matters makes her little better. 

Similarly, George’s “Finishing the Hat” from Sunday in the Park with George (1984) begins with the lyric focused on his confusion of Dot’s departure (“Yes, she looks for me. Good. / Let her look for me to tell me why she left me”) but his attention soon shifts to his art, specifically:

Finishing the hat,
How you have to finish the hat.
How you watch the rest of the world
From a window
While you finish the hat.

 The seeming triviality, absurdity even, of the idea of “finishing the hat” in his painting taking precedence over his relationship with Dot gets to the core of the work: the artist’s desire to express through creation can overwhelm him and become a singluar obsession.  This notion is expressed best when, as in “The Ladies Who Lunch,” the lyric’s two initially separate topics come together to reveal the nature of the dramatic tension at work:

And how you’re always turning back too late
From the grass or the stick
Or the dog or the light,
How the kind of woman willing to wait’s
Not the kind that you want to find waiting
To return you to the night,
Dizzy from the height,
Coming from the hat,
Studying the hat,
Entering the world of the hat…

George realizes through this lyric (as Dot already knows) that the very artistic obsession that makes her attracted to him is what keeps him from being able to commit to her as she needs.  Unable to give up on his work, “A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte,” he distracts himself from their crumbling relationship by noting what he has created in exchange: “Look I made a hat / where there never was a hat.”

A final example, also focusing on the strain caused by creative processes and relationships is “Franklin Shepard, Inc.,” from Merrily We Roll Along.  As I noted last week, the narrative is told in reverse, so early in the show (but late in their relationship), the audience sees Charley (himself a lyricist) pushed to the edge over the change he’s seen in his writing partner, now more interested in money than the work.  

Importantly, this song isn’t part of a scene, it is itself the scene, chronicling Charley’s  growing awareness of their altered partnership–all on live TV.  He recreates for the interviewer their creative process, with his representation of Frank’s secretary figuring all too prominently:

“Yes, Miss Bizz … “
“It’s the interview … “
“Thanks, Miss Bizz,
Will you tell him to wait?
Will you wire the car?
Will you order the coast?
Will you send up the bank? … “

And the telephones blink
And the stocks get sold
And the rest of us he keeps on hold,
And he’s gonna start producing.
And he’s now a corporation.
Right?
…
Very sneaky how it happens,
Much more sneaky than you think.
Start with nothing but a song to sing,
Next you’re Franklin Shepard, Inc.

This lyric, a nervous breakdown through song, is also largely conversational.  Charley is, in fact, for most of it, recreating imagined dialogue.  

Next week I’ll focus on precisely this aspect of Sondheim’s lyrics, particularly in duets: his ability to use lyrics (cleverly and naturally) as conversation and dialogue.