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I knew a lot of chords, but they weren't the chords that came with the melody that came with the idea i had for the song. melodies are simple things. if you see a train wreck, there's a melody. if you see a little daisy blowing in the breeze, there's a melody.
-Tom T. Hall
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I Knew A Lot Of Chords, But

Tom T. Hall
I knew a lot of chords, but they weren't the chords that came with the melody that came with the idea i had for the song. melodies are simple things. if you see a train wreck, there's a melody. if you see a little daisy blowing in the breeze, there's a melody.
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Song Writing Simple

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Melodies can be good depending on the context. you can have a simple melody, and if the harmony behind it is interesting, it can make a very simple melody really different. you can also have a complex melody. the more complex it is, the harder it is to sing, and then sometimes it can sound contrived. you could write a melody that would be fine on a saxophone but if you give it to a singer, it can sound raunchy.
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Ethel said: "lloyd, there's someone here you may remember-" daisy could not restrain herself. she ran to lloyd and threw herself into his arms. she hugged him. she looked into his green eyes, then kissed his brown cheeks and his broken nose and then his mouth. "i love you, lloyd," she sad madly. "i love you, i love you, i love you." "i love you, too, daisy," he said. behind her, daisy heard ethel's wry voice. "you do remember, i see.
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"if it wasn’t for the mist we could see your home across the bay," said gatsby. "you always have a green light that burns at the end of your dock." daisy put her arm through his abruptly but he seemed absorbed in what he had just said. possibly it had occurred to him that the colossal significance of that light had now vanished forever. compared to the great distance that had separated him from daisy it had seemed very near to him, almost touching her. it had seemed as close as a star to the moon. now it was again a green light on a dock. his count of enchanted things had diminished by one.
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The song that i will sing is an old song, so old that none knows who made it. it has been handed down through generations and was taught to me when i was but a little lad. it is now my own song. it belongs to me. this is a holy song (medicine-song), and great is its power. the song tells how, as i sing, i go through the air to a holy place where yusun (the supreme being) will give me power to do wonderful things. i am surrounded by little clouds, and as i go through the air i change, becoming spirit only.
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One of the servants had reported that daisy had been sneaking around the house at night, deliberately tripping all the traps to keep the mice from being killed. “is this true, daughter?” thomas bowman had rumbled, his gaze filled with ire as he stared at daisy. “it could be,” she had allowed. “but there is another explanation.” “and what is that?” bowman had asked sourly. her tone turned congratulatory. “i think we are hosting the most intelligent mice in new york!
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Instead of thinking in terms of chords, i think of voice-leading; that is, melody line and bass line, and where the bass line goes. if you do that, you'll have the right chord. [these voices] will give you some alternatives, and you can play those different alternatives to hear which one suits your ear. keep the bass line moving so you don't stay in one spot: if you have an interesting bass line and you roll it against the melody, the chords are going to come out right.
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