Field notes
How to write song lyrics for AIs
Music models do not “feel” a chorus. They pattern-match structure, vowel shape, repetition, and a dense style line. This desk is the brief you hand them — and the place you draft the words yourself.
Lyric Desk
Write lyrics a music AI can actually perform
Field notes
Music models do not “feel” a chorus. They pattern-match structure, vowel shape, repetition, and a dense style line. This desk is the brief you hand them — and the place you draft the words yourself.
One packed sentence beats a mood board. Order it: genre → era → vocal character → core instruments → tempo/feel → room. Models weight early tokens more, so put the sound first and the plot second.
Style: late-night neo-soul, 1974, warm alto close-mic, Rhodes and muted trumpet, 82 BPM brushed drums, small club, tape saturation [Verse] The laundromat clock stuck on quarter to two… [Chorus] I fold the same shirt twice and call it leaving…
Keep the style line under ~40 words. Extra adjectives after that start to cancel each other.
Bracketed headers are the steering wheel. Use them consistently, on their own lines:
Number repeats only when the lyric actually changes. If Chorus 2 is the same words, write [Chorus] again — identical text teaches the model the hook is the hook.
Cue doubles in parentheses on the line they belong to: come home (come home), (ooh, hold it). Do not hide performance notes inside the poetry.
AIs will sing whatever you type, including unsingable clumps. Prefer open vowels on held notes — oh, ah, ay, oo — and put closed consonants on shorter syllables. Count stresses, not just syllables: a chorus that lands on 1 & 2 & 3 & 4 will lock to a beat; a chorus of 15-syllable clauses will smear.
Generic heartbreak is the default output of every lyric model. Specificity is the human job. Swap “broken heart in the neon night” for a receipt, a bus number, a brand of tea, a left-turn that always floods. One concrete object per verse is enough; two metaphors in a line is already a pile-up.
Pick a point of view and a tense and do not wander. “I” in past tense with one present-tense chorus (the feeling that still won’t clock out) is a classic, reliable shape.
If your draft contains three or more of these, it will sound like every other generated song. The workshop flags them as you type.
neon · shadows · in the night · echoes of · shattered · phoenix · destiny · forevermore · soul on fire · dancing in the rain · lost in the · whispers in the dark · rise above · kaleidoscope · velvet night · symphony of · heartbeats racing · chasing dreams · broken pieces · abyss
If you want the model to draft lyrics (not just sing yours), give it constraints the way a publisher would:
Write lyrics only, no commentary. Title: Quarter Cycle Must use: dryer window, green cardigan, bus 42 Forbidden: neon, destiny, broken pieces Scheme: ABCB in verses, AA BB in chorus Form: [Verse] [Chorus] [Verse] [Chorus] [Bridge] [Chorus] Style: laundromat soul, rotary-speaker organ, 96 BPM, dry close vocal
A “weird genre” is five ordinary knobs turned to uncommon combinations: rhythm + instrument that doesn’t belong + vocal placement + room + era. “Baroque drill” is harpsichord ornaments + sliding 808s + courtly diction + stone hall + 140 BPM. The mixer on this desk rolls those knobs; you still write the words in the workshop so the oddness has something true to sit on.
Chance operations
Roll a style that should not exist, then steal it. Each roll picks an era, a rhythm, an instrument that doesn’t belong, a vocal, and a room. Save the ones that make your neck do something.
Hit roll. No two collisions are stored until you send them to the workshop.