I’ve written songs before. There aren’t many kinds of writing I haven’t at least tried, and I consider myself to be musical much in the way I consider myself to be a strong swimmer. I’m aware that’s something you usually say about someone after they’ve drowned: “But he was such a strong swimmer … ”
My Do Something challenge to write a Christmas single in a fortnight is a different matter. Coming up with something original won’t be easy. When it comes to music, Christmas is hardly unexplored territory.
Fortunately I am able to enlist the guidance of Chris Difford, who teaches a Guardian Masterclass in lyric-writing and who co-wrote such Squeeze classics as Take Me I’m Yours, Cool for Cats, Tempted and Up the Junction. How far wrong can you go writing with Chris Difford? Half wrong, at most.
On the day Chris arrives at my house, I am a bag of nerves. I don’t know how much preparation I should have done. I’m not sure I’m going to be able to speak, much less compose.
Over coffee, we quickly establish a shared interest in writing something melancholic, and settle on the idea of a family celebration gone wrong. I don’t reveal the only thing I’ve written in my brand-new songwriting notebook: “Christmas in A&E”. Chris talks frankly about how divorce and remarriage affects the holidays. I raise the notion of festive stress. While I reminisce about my mother’s annual habit of screaming “Christmas is ruined!”, Chris opens his laptop and starts tapping. Why, I think, isn’t he giving my story his full attention? And when are we going to start writing?
After a while, Chris turns his laptop round, and I see that he has typed out the highlights of our conversation in stanzas. I suggest an addition, and he passes me the laptop. Something like a structure begins to emerge.
“How do you approach the actual melody?” I say. He looks at me for a second. “I don’t,” he says. “I only do lyrics.” I go over to the piano and run through some chords, haltingly. I don’t really play the piano, but I know where everything is on it. “That’s lovely,” says Chris. “Are you sure?” I say.
At 4pm, Chris leaves me with two and a half pages of lyrics, the barest bones of a melody and his mobile number in case I need help. “It’s all there,” he says.
In the meantime, the Guardian is busy trying to find someone to record the song. A lot of names are briefly in the frame – people seem enthusiastic about the idea, or at least open-minded. But everyone wants to know the same thing: what’s the song like? Where is the demo? I spend some more time at the piano, but I’m no longer developing the melody, I’m just worrying it. The next morning I am forced to seek inspiration in the only place I’ve ever found it: inside the panic occasioned by a deadline. A demo has to be made, and no one can make it but me.
I rework the lyrics until I can ram them into the melody. When I’m finished, I have a duet on my hands. I’m not sure Chris will approve, but Chris is busy. He’s rehearsing for a tour with Glenn Tilbrook. I think to myself: I should have Chris’s problems.
It takes most of the afternoon to get to grips with the recording application that came with my computer, but by nightfall I have a basic demo, with guitar and two voices. I’ve trimmed the chorus and lowered the key so I can sing both parts. I’m not sure about it, but I don’t have time for a failure of nerve. I email the demo to Chris. He says the metre needs tidying in a few places, but it’s almost there.
Within a week we’ve heard that the acclaimed singer-songwriters Ed Harcourt and Kathryn Williams are willing to sing our duet. This obviates the need to source a bunch of musicians – Ed can basically play everything, and has his own studio.
On the appointed day, I arrive to find Ed running through the song. He fixes an awkward passage in the chorus by swapping two chords, and then lays down a basic piano track. It’s the sound of a great weight being lifted from my shoulders. When he finally sings it all the way through, it sounds like someone else’s song, which is what I’d been hoping for all along.
Kathryn arrives a few hours later, and lets it be known she has thoughts about the lyrics. This is a potentially difficult point of negotiation. While I’m more than willing to be schooled – I’m the only person in the room without a Mercury prize nomination – I can’t guarantee how I’m going to feel about changes. It’s all a bit personal.
She takes out her lyric sheet, and in a gentle voice suggests some alternative words for the beginning of the chorus. I scrutinise the page for a moment.
“That’s Difford’s line,” I say. “Do what you want to that.”
Watch Ed Harcourt singing Snowfall on TV at theguardian.com/snowfall-on-tv. Or download the single from the Soundcloud link above, and donate to the Guardian’s Christmas appeal: theguardian.com/christmas-appeal
Join Chris Difford’s lyric-writing Guardian Masterclass on 10-11 January
Ed Harcourt’s single with Burberry, The Way That I Live, is out now.
Kathryn Williams’ album Crown Electric is out now.
