5 creatives share the lyrics that changed their life
“It felt like one of those moments of clarity.”
Have you ever had a lyric jump out at you while you’re absentmindedly listening to a song in the middle of the aisle at Woolies? Before you know it, that lyric has changed how you see yourself, your life and other people. As dramatic as it sounds, good music has the power to shift our realities.
The key, though, is making sure you know the correct lyrics. Months of unlearning the lyrics to Abba’s ‘Dancing Queen’ has taught me it’s easier to learn the right lyrics from the start than to unlearn incorrect ones. If you’re like me and have the unfortunate habit of getting attached to the wrong words, the lyrics feature on Spotify is a godsend.
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It’s accurate, easy to use and stops you belting out “See that girl, watch her scream, kicking the dancing queen” for eight whole years. In the name of (accurate) songwriting, we reached out to five Australian creatives and asked them to share the lyrics that changed their lives.
Michelle Vincze, she/her, model
“But leave no room for doubt / That you are brave / A little leaf catching a wave / Strong but willing to be saved”
I think it’s no coincidence that I have been asked to write this piece after only recently discovering my favourite and most influential song to date – ‘Ignore Tenderness’ by Julia Jacklin. I heard this song for the first time in my car when I was binge-listening to Julia’s new album and immediately burst into tears.
There is a journey of vulnerability [in] the song and [the] last verse hits with some powerful, encouraging lyrics. For me, it’s a reminder that I have survived and grown from life’s challenges. It’s a call to surrender to life’s ever-changing conditions. It also speaks to not suffering in silence, to bring any hidden emotions to the surface and work through them with those you love and trust.
Jonti Ridley, they/them writer and content creator
“Your blood like winter freezes just like ice / And there’s a cold lonely light that shines from you / You’ll wind up like the wreck you hide behind that mask you use”
As a genderbending queer neurodivergent with a history of substance abuse and mental illness, it’s easy to see why I hold a special place in my heart for Sir Elton John. ‘I’m Still Standing’ is a powerful anthem in celebration and lament for Elton’s tumultuous struggle with addiction and fame early in his career that never fails to motivate me to press forward, even if it’s a little out of spite.
However it’s Bernie Taupin’s incredible lyrical skills that we have to thank for a majority of Elton’s catalogue. This particular part is one of my personal favourites as it both poetically and critically describes the isolation and self-destruction lying in wait if you isolate yourself in shame and performance, a reminder I sorely needed in my life.
Ben Ilobuchi, he/him, model and writer
“Haven’t got the guts to call him up / Walk around as if you never cared in the first place / But if you never call, you’ll end up stuck / Without another chance to tell him off right to his face / And even though we barely know each other / It still hurts / Watching him fade away”
As a mama’s boy with a strained, but not completely irrevocable relationship with my father, I couldn’t help but find myself connecting with the entire This Old Dog album [by Mac DeMarco], but most potently with ‘Watching Him Fade Away’. In it, Mac describes the relative indifference he’s had for his father over the years, but also how that indifference did nothing to dull the pain of his passing.
The song (among other things) encouraged me to reach out to my own dad, and try to rebuild [our relationship] with the knowledge that, no matter what I felt before, it would hurt to see him die, at least without giving our relationship another go. I like that the song isn’t necessarily hopeful, sad or regretful. It’s just an honest look at the emotional desert fathers and sons can find themselves in when neither has the humility or the desire to fix things.
Sienna Barton, she/her, artist
“I’m in the corner, watching you kiss her / And I’m giving it my all / But I’m not the girl you’re taking home / I keep dancing on my own”
I remember seeing Robyn perform at a music festival when I was 19 years old. I went with a few of my guy friends and someone I’d been in a toxic situationship with for the better part of a year. I was absolutely smitten and incredibly dumb, basically begging him to notice me instead of the other girls he was sleeping with.
After a day of musical acts that I don’t really remember, it crept up to 9pm, when Robyn was performing. I broke away from the boys, who went to watch someone else, and stood among a community of queer, non-binary people and cis women as we waited for her to come onstage. I felt alone… because I was quite literally on my own.
I spent the day attempting to keep up with the boys every time they had a drink (again, so dumb) and trying to maintain a cool girl facade with this guy I was seeing. This was the first time I’d been able to think properly all day.
I don’t remember much of her set, but I do remember ‘Dancing On My Own’. It was one of those cute-but-cheesy moments where I was doing the exact thing that the musician was describing in the lyrics… It felt like one of those moments of clarity: I would be okay on my own.
It’s one of those songs that I come back to whenever I’m down, whether it’s [because of] a breakup or work-related stress. I put it on and I remember how I felt when I was 19, dancing by myself in a dark, outdoor music festival, belting out the words and, somehow, feeling incredibly self-assured.
Ruby Staley, she/they, content producer and writer
“Just last the year / Pour a little salt we were never here”
When I think of lyrics that changed my life, I instantaneously think of Bon Iver’s For Emma, Forever Ago album. Not only are Bon Iver my favourite music producers, but this album and [the song] ‘Skinny Love’ have a special place in my heart because of what they represent: happy memories in love, times of enduring immense heartbreak and poignant reminders of friends and family that have since left this world.
The lyric, “Just last the year / Pour a little salt we were never here” hits me right in the guts every time it plays, in both a hopeful and hopeless way. This piece, but also the entire album, reminds me of where I’ve been, how far I’ve come and the importance of joy, love and hardships in life.
Music that evokes a visceral response is something to be applauded and, for me, necessary to be played over and over again. Nowadays, I often fall asleep listening to this album and although it’s incredibly sombre, it brings me a lot of peace.
To discover (or rediscover) your favourite lyrics, check out Lyrics on Spotify.
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