No matter where we stall, the frustration is the same - yet another concept that caught fire then flickered out. Musical or lyrical bits seem so promising at 2am, where just 12 hours later we struggle to get the magic back. So what can we do to fan the flames?

The reason why songs are hard to finish is that inspiration rarely takes us all the way through. At some point, we have to make decisions, organize pieces, and, the hardest part of all, cut ideas so we’re left with a potent expression.

So what defines the point at which we abandon a song and call it done? There’s truth to the idea that we just ‘feel’ it, but our feelings are based in characteristics we can observe and repeat. Just listen to the most assembly-line manufactured electronically-produced pop song you can get your hands on. No seriously, I’ll wait.

What you may have noticed is that the song had a clear and clean structure - so clean that all your expectations about the song came true. From the chords and groove, to the melodies, the rhymes, the lengths of each section, the cadences, the title positioning, the repetition, and the overall form. Nothing was left to chance. Like Formica table tops, kale, or my medium-length bob, though there is nothing really wrong, but there’s also nothing particularly right. The experience is neutral.

This is where songwriting gets interesting. Given the task, any one of us can finish a song in 15 minutes. It’s finishing a good song that proves difficult. That, then, begs the question “What makes a song good?”

It is this question that guards the bridge between our unfinished songs and the flesh wounds we’ll incur through finishing them. Some of those flesh wounds involve defining the particular moment the song goes off the rails, and whether it’s a melody, harmony, or lyric element that’s to blame. Most often, the moment we become disillusioned is when the song loses focus. Focus is created through repetition of a clear concept - such as a verse lyric that makes only one direct point, a melody that repeats a single motif several times, or a chord progression that refrains from overcomplicating the section with too many chords.

Generally speaking, no section of a song needs more than two melodic motifs. More than two and we dilute the melody so that no particular theme is, well, thematic anymore. Repeating a melodic theme several times also aids in opening up the possibility for contrast in the section to follow. Too much variation makes it hard to highlight any idea, since every idea seems to be inspired by a slightly different sound.

Too much structure and repetition and a song becomes robotic. Too little and a song loses its ability to communicate a potent idea. Great songs often set up an expectation through repetition and structure only to break that expectation and create great interest. So in addition to focus, we can ask ourselves at what point in the song we can deliver an unexpected turn. This could be a shortened fourth line in an otherwise blocky verse section, or a loose rhyme where we feel drawn to only write perfect ones. It could be a three-line pre chorus instead of four, launching the listener unexpectedly into the chorus. Or, it could be resting the entire song on just three chords until we start the bridge on a borrowed chord, moving outside the key to spotlight, just for a moment, a new perspective in the lyric.

To finish a song, we must release the expectation for it to be perfect. Line by line, we can decide then and there what melody we will sing, what chord we will play, and what lyric we will finally say. Determining to make decisions instead of leaving it open is a brave step towards closing the book on one song and opening another - an essential task in learning what we did before so as not to continue doing it again and again. 

It can be great practice to finish every song you start. The reason is that it commits you to never abandoning the thing when the going gets hard. It’s okay to make finishing a song, not even a good song, the goal for awhile. Once you get familiar with the feeling, you just might find it so inviting that the dash to the finish line feels shorter than ever. Remember you’re in good company. Leonardo Davinci didn’t start the Mona Lisa until age 50, and it is said that even at his death, didn’t consider it finished. I, for one, am glad it still made it to the world.

Stay creative,