In a recent Vanity Fair interview, Alan Menken revealed that Lin-Manuel Miranda re-wrote some lyrics for the live-action remake of The Little Mermaid, addressing issues of sexism and consent in the original songbook. The AV Club perfectly summarizes my initial thoughts: “Who asked for this?” I am happily spared from making the argument myself, because there’s something else I want to talk about. In my opinion, it’s a crime worse than shameless PR grabs and trading hand-drawn animations for soulless CGI. I wish it weren’t true, but I have to admit: Disney’s lyrics are going to shit.
Before I torch the beloved artifacts of modern kids, a quick history lesson. As a melancholic 90’s child, I loved to gaze out of the minivan window and listen to CDs through my yellow Walkman. The soundtrack of my youth was Classic Disney: 60 Years of Musical Magic, a box set of Disney music from between the years 1937 and 1998. I couldn’t have known it then, but I was lucky enough to be living through the Disney’s Renaissance Era — a decade marked by musical adaptations and commercial success. The era was kicked off by The Little Mermaid (with music by Alan Menken and lyrics by Howard Ashman) and it ended with Toy Story 2 (with music and lyrics by Randy Newman). At some point in between, I first heard this:
How high does the sycamore grow?
If you cut it down, then you’ll never know
— “Colors of the Wind,” Pocahontas, Stephen Schwartz*
*Note: throughout this essay, I’ll be crediting lyrics to the film’s lyricist. You know, the way writing is credited to writers.
Next came the Post-Renaissance Era, which was marked by a lack of musical adaptations and a lot of corporate chaos. In 2003, Disney announced that Home on the Range would be their last traditionally animated film and fired most of their 2D department. In 2008, the department was frantically re-hired for one last project. The Princess and the Frog (Randy’s back, baby) was released in ‘09, rounding out the Post-Renaissance. The 2D office was once again closed, thus initiating the Revival Era, and Disney began Wreck-It-Ralphing its way through the CGI hits we know and love today. Hits with lyrics like this:
Now it’s time to kick your hiney
Ever seen someone so shiny
— “Shiny,” Moana, Lin-Manual Miranda
Ok, I’m sorry, I won’t begin by cherry-picking the most rotten fruit. But even this —
See the line where the sky meets the sea? It calls me
And no one knows how far it goes
— “How Far I’ll Go,” Moana, Miranda
— pales in comparison to Schwartz’ artistry. The who-am-I songs of Pocahontas and Moana have similar themes, but one feels like poetry while the other seems juvenile. Both rhyme, but one fails to transcend. As a songwriter, I find this sloppy pathos saddening. These modern songs are telling, not showing, and they’re doing so with a dulled vocabulary. Early Disney inspired me to pay close attention to lyrics, because there was something to be found within them. Consider Megara’s pained resistance to falling in love with Hercules:
If there’s a prize for rotten judgment, I guess I’ve already won that
No man is worth the aggravation, that’s ancient history – been there, done that
— “I Won’t Say I’m In Love,” Hercules, David Zippel
Cue the Muses. As a kid, I had not yet experienced the urge to redirect Cupid’s arrow, but because of this song I knew what to look out for. The ‘ancient history’ nod is representative of the subtle wordplay peppered throughout Old Disney — think Louie as the “king of the swingers,” in The Jungle Book (music and lyrics by the Sherman brothers) and the singing goblets who “live to serve” in Beauty and the Beast (lyrics by Howard Ashman). These days, subtlety is a lost art. Modern lyricists no longer trust children to connect A to B, and brazenly clunk through any cleverness they do muster:
I grow rows and rows of roses
I make perfect, practiced poses
— “What Else Can I Do,” Encanto, Miranda
Ugh, what a mouthful! It’s a cheap rhyme, overly alliterative, and classic Miranda. I know I’m being harsh. If my mother’s field notes from kindergarten teaching are accurate, the kids are still loving these movies. Then again, these movies are all they’ve got. Disney’s cultural monopoly isn’t Lin’s fault — in fact, he’s more of a casualty. Hamilton made Miranda a household name, and adding it to a poster is sure to increase sales. The celebrity cash-grab: it’s a phenomenon we’ve seen before. In episode 508 of the Better Things podcast, Cree Summer and Pamela Adlon are discussing how the voice-acting industry has changed:
CS: This is a new thing, that people know who does the voice.
PA: I remember when it turned.
CS: When was it, tell me.
PA: Ok, this is my theory. I feel like The Little Mermaid was the last Disney movie–
CS: –that you didn’t have to be famous.
PA: That’s right. Who was in The Little Mermaid? It was Samuel Wright, god bless the dead. It was Pat Carroll as Ursula, genius. Samuel E. Wright, he played Sebastian the Crab. And it was, who played Ariel – Jodi Benson. Who sung the part and did the acting.
CS: And she would never get that part today.
PA: Not in a million fucking years.
CS: She wouldn’t even get to read for it.
PA: That was the last movie. And what a fucking movie, that movie is genius. That was the tipping point, and then they started casting celebrities.
It goes beyond celebrities. Disney owns everything: Pixar, Marvel, Vice, Hulu, National Geographic, Lucasfilm, ESPN, ABC, FX, Fox, The Muppets, The Simpsons, The History Channel, and most of Orlando, Florida. Lately, the company has made headlines for its various spats with Florida governor Ron DeSantis. Disney’s CEO publicly opposed DeSantis’ “don’t say gay” bill… after it was passed. DeSantis retaliated by threatening to take away Disney’s tax breaks. All the while, Disney financially backs plenty of the bill’s supporters, and DeSantis is running for president. The publicity benefits them both.
It’s easy to admit that Disney’s politics are hollow, so why can't we admit that their stories are, too? Contrary to DeSantis’ talking points, Disney is neither “woke,” nor conservative. It’s a conglomerate beast that should never have been allowed to happen. But it did, and as a result, the media of today’s youth is filtered through a money-making machine. The company’s interest is not in making art, it’s in determining the perfect fairytale formula. The new movies are increasingly bland, taking few risks, causing no trouble, and yielding little catharsis. When I watched Brave, I came away thinking, yeah, aptly titled. It felt like the exploration of a disembodied idea — a moral without a plot. As Randy put it in Princess and the Frog, Money ain’t got no heart / Money ain’t got no soul.
For the record, I think it’s fine that Disney has broken from the old model of marriage as the perfect ending. But why is the alternative this cloying narrative about making one’s family proud? In Encanto, Mirabel discovers her strength by saving her family’s village. In Moana, the titular gal ventures out to sea but returns home to serve as chief of — you guessed it — her village. I know we only have 90 minutes to wrap these things up, but I crave truth and complexity. We need a Disney princess who leaves her family and never comes back. We need a Disney princess who loses something. I promise, the children can handle it!
Mulan was one of the last movies of the Renaissance Era, and the last with lyrics by David Zippel. The film takes inspiration from a Chinese folk poem and tackles a lot of complex themes — war, gender, sacrifice. Mulan struggles to meet her family’s expectations of typical femininity, cuts her hair, and joins the war. In “A Girl Worth Fighting For,” the battalion travels through rough terrain and tries to forget about their troubles:
For a long time we’ve been marching off to battle
In our thundering herd we feel a lot like cattle
Like the pounding beat our aching feet aren't easy to ignore
Hey, think of instead a girl worth fighting for
As the boys put it, this girl is paler than the moon, has no faults, and cooks really well. Mulan pushes back: How ‘bout a girl who’s got a brain / Who always speaks her mind?
Nah, her platoon razzes. In this song, misogyny is heavily indulged. The animation follows Mulan’s reaction to all this locker room talk. She rolls her eyes and walks away, but remains focused on her main mission of passing as a man. And you know what? She’s kinda real for that! This is no hollow girl-boss, standing tall with her hands on her hips, scolding an evil crab. It’s a teenager learning what her friends talk about when they think women aren’t around. Kids’ movies don’t need to represent all harsher aspects of adult life, but it’s a disservice to dodge complexity altogether, swapping love songs for slapstick and rushing the lesson. “A Girl Worth Fighting For” ends abruptly. A girl worth fighting — the lyrics cut off as the soldiers reach the top of a hill and spot an abandoned village before them, devastated by Shan Yu’s army. Soon after, Mulan discovers a doll, left behind by some girl. The girl they’re really fighting for.
There is an entire character type centered on exposing children to reality: the villain. I love a good villain. From egg-slonking Gaston to flamboyant Jafar, Renaissance Era villains showed us what happens when characters become twisted. They lust, they pillage, they kill. Who among us can forget the death of Mufasa? 90’s children were raised on strong marrow, with exposure to life’s brutalities and paradoxes — your parents will die, and their murderer is kinda hot. Here’s Encanto’s fiercest villain:
A seven-foot frame, rats along his back
When he calls your name, it all fades to black
Yeah, he sees your dreams, and feasts on your screams (hey!)
We don’t talk about Bruno, no, no, no!
— “We Don’t Talk About Bruno,” Encanto, Miranda
You got me, I like the line about the rats. But by the end of the movie, we learn that it was all a big misunderstanding — Bruno is actually a really nice guy! Contrast that with Claude Frollo, a pious villain struggling with his own lust:
Protect me, Maria
Don’t let this siren cast her spell
Don’t let her fire sear my flesh and bone
Destroy Esmeralda
And let her taste the fires of hell
Or else let her be mine and mine alone
— “Out There,” Hunchback of Notre Dame, Schwartz
Later on, justice is served when Claude Frollo falls into a lake of molten lava. Shan Yu is exploded by a firework. Ursula is impaled by a ship and then electrocuted to death. Did you know that the last villain to die in a Disney movie was Mother Gothel in Tangled? Over the years, death and evil have been written out of the script. No one spits like Gaston anymore.
“Oh yeah, what about Tangled?” — everyone is screaming at me. “Frozen is good!” — everybody is yelling. My first point is that Frozen and Tangled are only okay. My second point is that Manuel was not involved in these. The music and lyrics of the Frozen franchise were handled by married duo Robert Lopez and Kristen Anderson-Lopez, and Tangled pairs Alan Menken with Glenn Slater on lyrics. Back to my first point. Tangled’s “When Will My Life Begin” admittedly speaks to me — I, too, am an overly ambitious artist type for whom the present moment is never enough. But just like Lin’s brood, the lyrics remain limited. Compare these equally lengthy stanzas, sung by equally tower-trapped characters:
I’ll reread the books if I have time to spare
I’ll paint the walls some more, I’m sure there’s room somewhere
And then I’ll brush and brush and brush and brush my hair
Stuck in the same place I’ve always been
And I’ll keep wonderin’ and wonderin’
And wonderin’ and wonderin’
When will my life begin?
— “When Will My Life Begin,” Tangled, Slater
Out there among the millers and the weavers and their wives
Through the roofs and gables I can see them
Ev’ry day they shout and scold and go about their lives
Heedless of the gift it is to be them
If I was in their skin
I’d treasure ev’ry instant
— “Out There,” Hunchback of Notre Dame, Schwartz
The former’s vocabulary is right outta Hooked on Phonics, and the latter displays more respect for syllabic real estate. How many times must we brush and wonder? And though Frozen gets points for “Love is an Open Door” (it’s cute), I know that true fans won’t let me go unless I talk about… you know. Well, okay. “Let It Go” is heralded as a lesbian’s coming out anthem, which annoys me because I don’t think Disney should get credit until Elsa gets a girlfriend. Also, Idina Menzel’s voice isn’t mixed right, and the track’s instrumentation sounds like karaoke backing. If you really need a veiled queer metaphor for your Pride playlist, I suggest Schwartz’ “What’s This” from A Nightmare Before Christmas.
I’m not a total hater. My favorite song from the Revival Era is “You’re Welcome,” sung by Dwayne Johnson. It’s the latest in a long tradition of typecasting famous comedy actors as mentor figures in Disney films. Danny DeVito as a grumpy satyr, Jason Alexander as a friendly gargoyle, and The Rock as a demigod. These actors get only one song to show their stuff, and they give it their all. Let’s enjoy:
I’ve been out to pasture pal, my ambition gone
Content to spend lazy days and to graze my lawn
But you need an advisor, a satyr but wiser
A good merchandiser and whoa!
There goes my ulcer!
— “One Last Hope,” Hercules, Zippel
We all have gaped at some Adonis
But then we crave a meal more nourishing to chew
And since you’re shaped like a croissant is
No question of, she’s gotta love a guy like you!
— “A Guy Like You,” The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Schwartz
Honestly I could go on and on, I could explain every natural phenomenon
The tide, the grass, the ground, oh, that was Maui just messing around
I killed an eel, I buried its guts
Sprouted a tree, now you got coconuts
What’s the lesson? What is the take-away?
Don’t mess with Maui when he’s on a break-away
— “You’re Welcome,” Moana, Miranda
That last bit is Miranda totally in his element. Staccato musical-theater rap with a ton of playfulness. And the kids love it. Whether we like it or not, Disney is the music of childhood. It’s been the case for generations. One decade, one man, could never live up to over 60 years of musical magic, created by hundreds of people. Actually, I’m on team Lin. He’s a little overworked. In a recent Billboard article, he expressed some humility:
“I will definitely fall short because no one can write like that,” Miranda said modestly, before reciting the lyric “What’s a fire and why does it — what’s the word? — burn?” from Little Mermaid’s “Part of Your World,” and praising Menken for his brilliant simplicity.
Billboard gets it wrong – Menken didn’t write the lyrics. It was Howard Ashman.
One Hundred and One Dalmatians (1961) begins with a hum. Songwriter Roger Radcliffe descends the stairs of his gorgeous Victorian home with a melody in mind. “Da-dum-da-dee-dee,” he sings, while his wife Anita teases him. “Such clever lyrics,” she says with a giggle. When Anita’s old schoolmate screeches by in a car coded villain, Roger is suddenly inspired: “Cruella De Vil, that’s it!” Out tumble the words, painting a frightening picture of the approaching guest. Anita protests, “Roger, you are an idiot, Roger, she’ll hear you!” but they’re both laughing. When Cruella finally enters in a green mist of her own cigarette smoke, we are adequately prepared. It’s my all-time favorite Disney song — a great tune, with great animation to accompany it.
The song is sung by Bill Lee, with music and lyrics by Mel Leven.
Today’s Emoji: 🩷
From the people who brought you 💖, 💕, 💗, 💓, 💞, 💘, and 💝 comes 🩷, a long-overdue plain pink heart. She is shy, she is simple, she is still showing up as an error on your screen. One wonders why it took Unicode so long to remedy this obvious oversight. Was 💜 being a bully? Did ❣️ blackmail somebody? Though fellow newbies 🩵 (light blue heart) and 🩶 (grey heart) are welcome, it’ll be a while before they earn a spot in my Frequently Used like pinkie already has.
The Gossip
If you’ll recall, I recently got bored with celebrity gossip and decided to turn this section into an advice column. Here’s our first query:
I have a friend that we'll call Ben. Ben is, on the whole, a very sweet and thoughtful friend, but he isn't very humble. He sort of sees himself as 'the dad/professor' of our friend group. He loves to get people into his hobbies and share his opinions on books, movies, and politics. He loves to share whatever he's been thinking about recently, and he especially loves to give out life advice.
I've started to resent it a little. The problem isn't that Ben's takes are unsolicited, most of the time they're quite welcome. The problem is he doesn't show a lot of interest in what other people share with him. We've been friends for several years, and while he's been a large influence on my tastes and beliefs, I can't think of anything I've recommended or said that's stuck with him. It often feels like he's already done or thought of everything I care about. Like what we have in common is just anything that **he** shared with **me**
I think part of it is that I am the opposite: I don't share my hobbies as often, I usually keep my opinions to myself until someone asks me to share, and I don't really feel qualified to tell people what they should do with their lives. Still, I've shared at least a few things with him over the years, and I don't think he's picked up on any.
What's your advice, Close Friend? How do I find out if Ben's actually learned something from me, and if not how do I get him to do so? How can I be more forward about my interests, opinions, or advice (not just with Ben, but in general)?
Dear Friend-of-Ben,
Many early-life relationships are unequal ones — those with our parents, our teachers, or our friends who haven’t quite learned to listen. As we get older, we tire of being told what to think. We want to learn from experience, mistakes, and conversation. So, our friendships become more mutual. We gravitate toward people who help us feel seen in this noisy world.
It sounds like you’ve enjoyed a few years of learning from Ben, and now you’re having some natural growing pains. You desire a two-way street — valid! But you are up against a challenge, so I’m glad you reached out. Ben’s tarot archetype is the Hierophant. Click the link. See the guy in robes? That’s Ben. See the monks at his feet? That’s you. The Hierophant is a master of his field and a keeper of well-earned knowledge. He shares his perspective by telling others what to do. He’s very comfortable on his throne, so it may be difficult to, say, go on a walk with him and talk as equals. You won’t get anywhere by playing his game — no matter how many great movies you recommend.
Instead of continuing to lay your favorite books at his feet, address your observations with Ben directly. You both seem like smart people, and there’s a way to initiate this conversation without it feeling too sticky. Frame it like you did to me: he’s been a major influence, you look up to him, he’s really made an impact. But sometimes, you feel like a student. Ride the discussion from there. Oh, and maybe have some recommendations in your back pocket. If his insecurities are triggered by the convo, he may ask what you’re bringing to the table. At this point, you know his tastes well, so be confident in your curation. And keep it positive. Return to admiration, a format which clearly makes him feel comfortable. Every good professor wants to see his student evolve.
It will feel vulnerable! Luckily, you have a divine archetype as well. The High Priestess is the feminine counterpart to the Hierophant. She, too, is a figure of great authority, but her wisdom is marked by compassion. She favors collaboration, not competition. You mentioned wanting to be more forward with your own thoughts and tastes. A fine desire, but make sure you’re not just comparing yourself to Ben. Your inner Priestess shares according to her intuition, not to fill space. Humility is the mark of a good listener. If you’d like to become more confident, simply hang out with people who uplift you and validate your perspective. Like Ben, six months from now!
Thanks, Friend-of-Ben, for your brave question. Anyone else need advice? Anonymously submit your query here.
A Song
The song I’ve listened to most this year is Only Static, by Bad Bad Hats. I’ve loved this band for years, and I often listen to them for production inspiration. On the folk-indie-pop-rock spectrum, they’re a bit more pop than Phoebe Bridgers.
I think about the spectrum a lot. While folk songs offer a detailed perspective, pop lyrics are sparser, relying on the listener to apply their own meaning. Pop walks you up to a well of feeling without pushing you in. Framed negatively, pop is all about mass appeal. Framed positively, it centers the relationship between songwriter and audience. This positive framing is easy to forget when I’m failing to connect with whatever’s playing at Target, but Bad Bad Hats songwriter Kerry Alexander writes simple, true lyrics which remind me: people aren’t that complicated.
What do I do when I want you?
You're calling my name and I'm turning around, yeah
What do I do when I want you?
What do I do?
Kerry sings the final chorus, the synth rises, and I fall over the edge.
PS. Me and some friends just started a zine. We’re open for submissions until July 11th. Click here to learn more 🙂