Stephen Sondheim

One trick for songwriting is to imagine you're addressing the person you have left; the song is a way to say the unsayable. This is the device in "The Heart of the Matter" (Don Henley), "Dear John" (Taylor Swift), "Fire and Rain" (James Taylor).

But my favorite example is from Sondheim. A woman is conversing, in her head, with her ex-boyfriend:

Hello, Georges...

I do not wish to be remembered like this, Georges...

With them, Georges...

My hem, Georges:

Three inches off the ground?

And then this monkey?

And these people, Georges...

They'll argue till they fade.

And whisper things, and grunt.

But thank you for the shade--

And putting me in front.

Yes, thank you, Georges, for that.

And for the hat....

It's the brilliance of Sondheim to recognize that *almost anything* can be an expression of ambivalence; the artist, Georges Seurat, may have "punished" his ex by depicting her with a monkey, on a leash. He felt his ex was too conventional, and the choice of the monkey may have been a way of poking a weak spot, causing embarrassment. Making a dress seem unfashionable: This, too, could be an aggressive act.

At the same time, Georges cannot help but love his ex, and he shows this love through three details: prominent placement, use of (heaven-sent) shading, and a fabulous hat.

This is weird, witty science fiction--smuggled into a Broadway musical. I just don't imagine that anyone else would ever think to write this way.

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