3 of the Best Spoken-Word Songs for Those Looking for Something Different

What is a song? Does it always require lyrics? No, not always. Does it always require live instruments? No, not always. Does it always require music? Maybe, maybe not. What about singing? Hmm … Sometimes there are spoken-word works that test the very limits of what music or a song can be. Melody can be heard in the delivery but there is also not always a backing band or singing.

Here below, we wanted to explore three such offerings. A trio of tracks the test the limits of what music can be. Indeed, these are three of the best spoken-word songs for those looking for something different for their favorite playlists.

“Revolution Will Not Be Televised” by Gil Scott-Heron from Small Talk at 125th and Lenox (1970)

Many have heard the phrase “The revolution will not be televised.” The idea is that a big change in popular culture will not be shown or displayed via popular culture. But the phrase was popularized via a spoken-word work by the revolutionary poet Gil Scott-Heron. On this work, the artist talks about how the underground culture will not be given the glitzy sheen of modern media. Indeed, it will all come about on the street amongst the populous. To illustrate his point, Scott-Heron offers,

You will not be able to stay home, brother
You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out
You will not be able to lose yourself on skag and
Skip out for beer during commercials
Because the revolution will not be televised

The revolution will not be televised
The revolution will not be brought to you by Xerox
In four parts without commercial interruptions
The revolution will not show you pictures of Nixon
Blowing a bugle and leading a charge by John Mitchell
General Abrams and Spiro Agnew
To eat hog maws confiscated from a Harlem sanctuary
The revolution will not be televised

“Lucille” by B.B. King from Lucille (1967)

We move from the revolutionary to the hyper-specific. On this track, blues master B.B. King talks about his favorite thing in the world: his guitar. The instrument that brought him out of poverty, the instrument that made him a household name. The opening song from the album of the same name is a nearly 11-minute ode to his six-string. He talks his way through the track, offering to listeners,

The sound that you’re listening to
Is from my guitar that’s named Lucille
I’m very crazy about Lucille
Lucille took me from the plantation
Oh, and you might say
Brought me fame
I don’t think I could just talk enough about Lucille
Sometime when I’m blue, seem like Lucille try to help me call my name
I used to sing spirituals and I thought that this
Was the thing that I wanted to do

But somehow or other when I went in the army
I picked up on Lucille, and started singing blues

“Grinnin’ in Your Face” by Son House from Father of the Delta Blues: The Complete 1965 Sessions (1965)

This traditional work from the legendary blues artist Son House is about being wary of those who smile in your face and do you harm behind your back. Belting out with a haunting skill and a sense of earthly truth, the artist reminds and warns those who will listen. Says the songwriter and performer about two-faced people in your vicinity,

Don’t you mind people grinnin’ in your face
Don’t mind people grinnin’ in your face
You just bear this in mind, a true friend is hard to find
Don’t you mind people grinnin’ in your face

You know your mother would talk about you
Your own sisters and your brothers too
They just don’t care how you’re tryin’ to live
They’ll talk about you still

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