I’ve said it before, and I’m not alone believing that Jason Isbell is among the songwriting GOATs of this century. His songs focus mostly on his personal feelings and bare his soul with raw honesty. Whether he’s writing in first-person or through a character, the feelings are real. His song, “If We Were Vampires”, suggests that what makes anything precious, love in that song, is the fact that we are here for a finite amount of time. During a performance of “If We Were Vampires” in 2018, when I choked up a bit myself, I noticed couples in the crowd holding each other with tears in their eyes.
Isbell is often asked about who he’s trying to reach when he writes. In one of the more colorful answers, he suggested that if he wrote for the entire audience, it would dilute the message, and he’d end up with “Big Macs.” He goes on to say that he tries to single out one person “kind of an asshole” who would like to enjoy what they’re hearing but has heard it all before. I felt like he was speaking to me. While I enjoy sifting through new music, I do eat an awful lot of Big Macs if you will, and sometimes I get heartburn.
Good/great songwriting isn’t required for a good song. There are lots of empty carbs in songs like “Pour Some Sugar on Me”, “Tubthumping”, and “Louie Louie” and yet they’ve stood up to generations of listeners, continue to get feet tapping and butts shaking and karaoke bars singing along. I love jam bands, but other than the Grateful Dead and a few Allman Brothers Band songs, it's often the vibe around the lyrics or a great lyrical hook that draws you in rather than soul-baring, life-enhancing content. Great songwriting is different.
A well-written song needs to have an element of relatability. There are a million and one love songs in popular culture, in most of them, like commercially successful burgers, you know what to expect, and don’t get any surprises. In the song 50/50, John Craigie spells it out “you know we write our best songs, after the first date and the last.” They’re easy to relate to, when you’re falling in love, you understand the happy ones. When you’re heartbroken, the sad ones hit home. But it’s hard, with all the competition, to write one that truly stands the test of time. Frank Sinatra once called The Beatles’ “Something” (one of George Harrison’s contributions to Abbey Road) one of the best songs ever written. It has staying power even holding up as recently reinterpreted by Lucinda Williams in her signature gravelly tone. Adele and Taylor Swift write relatable love songs straight from the heart, and breakup tunes that make men think to themselves “I’m glad I’m not that guy.”
Our current political climate is fertile ground for new protest songs. Last year I wrote about the emergence of Jesse Welles, who went from Tik Tok star to major success in 2025. He continues to speak his truth with unbridled passion and honesty. His output is all but unmatched, drawing comparisons to John Prine, who would debut songs he’d written on the way to the gig. This type of output and songwriting relies less on cerebral deep dives and heart-string tugging emotion, than on quick wit and an unstoppable desire to speak truth to power. Carsie Blanton was detained by the Israeli government last fall for being part of the flotilla attempting to bring aid to the people affected by the war in Gaza. She remains undaunted, continuing to use humor, and in spite of everything, a positive attitude to keep her message alive. Welles and Blanton join a group of veterans such as Joan Baez, Neil Young, Bruce Springteen, Lucinda Williams, and Tom Morello to show that songs, especially folk and punk are a great way to spread a message and move the world.
Good songwriting isn’t always required to do heavy lifting. That would get boring. Tom Petty had a gift for writing vivid stories about everyday life using plain language and few words. In “Runnin’ Down a Dream” Petty writes “The trees went by. Me and Del were singin’ ‘Little Runaway’, I was flyin’.” Here he isn’t saying anything important and isn’t using cryptic metaphors, but the scene is relatable and with very few words, creates an immersive sensory experience. It’s said that brevity is the heart of wit, but it can also be the heart of good storytelling, if you choose the right words.
In short, like all art, great songwriting is defined individually by the listener (and by pundits who write about songs instead of writing songs).
Sometimes well-written songs can mean nothing, be humorous, or be so cryptic as to leave it open to interpretation even as they convey a message. In David Byrne’s recent tune, “I Met the Buddha at a Downtown Party, he writes “…he was hanging by the pastries and the canapés. Just stuffing himself like there was no tomorrow with a beatific smile all over his face. I said ‘Dude, should you really be eating all that unhealthy stuff. And you, being so enlightened and all, don’t you think you’ve had enough?’” It’s a humorous way to deliver biting social commentary about the Buddha leaving the enlightenment business due to his inability to provide answers.
In short, like all art, great songwriting is defined individually by the listener (and by pundits who write about songs instead of writing songs). Most of the time, I'm still looking for an overall sound I like, but songwriting that affects me should have something I can relate to, an element of originality even when telling familiar tales, or something that makes me think.
