Lyrics as Literature: A Personal Reflection

I have often found myself reflecting on the place of lyrics within the wider world of literature. Unlike mathematics or physics, where precision is absolute, literature and poetry exist in a space of subjectivity. What resonates as profound truth to one reader or listener can seem shallow or overwrought to another. This becomes especially clear when considering songwriters who straddle the boundary between popular music and literary craft.

Take Alanis Morissette, for instance. I have always thought her lyrics possess a literary quality, raw and confessional in a way that recalls Sylvia Plath or Anne Sexton. Her songs often read like diary entries transformed into melodies, capturing the turbulence of lived experience with startling honesty. Critics are divided: some admire her poetic candor, while others dismiss her work as therapeutic rambling. For me, this ambivalence itself demonstrates that literature is not an exact science - it lives in the eyes of its beholder.

Bob Dylan is another telling example. Awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature, he is celebrated as a modern bard, yet just as often accused of being vague or even shallow. Some hear epic poetry in his songs; others hear little more than cultural slogans. What this contrast shows is that the line between great poetry and mere clever lyricism is never fixed but shifts with cultural taste and personal perspective.

On the other side of the spectrum lies Michael Jackson. While I admire his genius as a performer and cultural icon, I find his lyrics shallow, even naïve at times. They rely on universal themes of love, unity, and peace, but rarely transcend into literary territory. Yet, in performance, those very lyrics - paired with his voice, choreography, and production - gained a power that written poetry alone could never achieve. His simplicity was intentional, designed to resonate across cultures and languages. Still, as literature, they leave me wanting.

In contrast, I find the work of Genesis and Pink Floyd steeped in literary resonance. Genesis, particularly in their Gabriel years, wrote sprawling narratives that resembled modernist novels set to music. The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway feels like a fever dream in verse. Pink Floyd, under Roger Waters’ pen, tackled philosophy, alienation, and political critique with searing imagery. Albums like The Dark Side of the Moon and The Wall can be read almost like extended poems or allegorical epics.

Yet here, too, my perspective has shifted with time. Waters’ lyrics are undeniably superb, filled with biting satire and haunting lines, but I have grown increasingly weary of his relentless political flag-waving. In my youth, I resonated more with his narrow leftist worldview, but after stepping back, I see how didactic his style can be. He does not always leave room for the listener’s imagination. His genius lies in his intensity, but that same intensity often reduces his art to a kind of sermon.

This is precisely why I now value the later Pink Floyd era, shaped by David Gilmour and especially by the pen of Polly Samson. Samson, with her literary background as a novelist, brought a different kind of depth: reflective, metaphorical, and atmospheric rather than polemical. Songs like High Hopes possess a Wordsworthian nostalgia, evoking time and memory with a quiet grace that to me feels profoundly literary. Where Waters wields the pen like a sword, Samson uses it like a brush.

All of this has deepened my conviction that literature in lyrics cannot be measured by fixed criteria. One person may find Morissette’s confessions unrefined; another may find them brimming with authenticity. Dylan may be hailed as a poet or dismissed as a pretender. Jackson’s simplicity may frustrate me but uplift millions. Genesis and Pink Floyd, in their different incarnations, show that the literary in music can take the form of allegory, satire, or pure lyrical imagery.

For me, the conclusion is clear: poetry and literature resist being confined to rigid definitions. They thrive on subjectivity, context, and the emotional state of the reader or listener. Sometimes, a line of song hits with the force of a great novel; other times, it rings hollow. What matters is not whether critics decree it “literary,” but whether the words live inside us, shaping our thoughts long after the music has faded.