Lin-Manuel Miranda is the most esteemed musical theater writer of this century. Earning a Pulitzer Prize and a handful of Tonys, Miranda has penned some of the most notable musicals of the last 20 years. He typically works as both a composer and a lyricist, and for Hamilton, he is even credited as the librettist. As a language geek who is particularly interested in rhyming, I consider Miranda one of the best lyricists in Broadway history. His work has certainly been influential to my own lyricism.
In honor of Lin-Manuel Miranda’s birthday today, let’s look at some of his most ingenious lyrics.
Miranda takes inspiration from hip-hop, an unusual source for theater lyrics. This gives his lyrics a certain uniqueness, as very few Broadway lyricists are able to employ the tools of hip-hop as successfully. Miranda’s lyrics are known for their rhythm and their “imperfect rhyming.” I put quotes here because I consider “imperfect rhymes” to be a disservice to the discussion of Miranda’s lyricism. Very often, Miranda does not actually rhyme in his lyrics, but rather uses patterns of assonance.
What is assonance?
A word rhymes when the stressed vowel and the rest of the word matches those of another word – cat [kæt] and bat [bæt], to give a very simple example (the bracketed strings are the words transcribed into the International Phonetic Alphabet (IPA), an alphabet that linguists use to make the phonetics of a word more clear), or bawl [bɑl] and call [kɑl]. Assonance is where only the vowels match between the two words – cat [kæt] and map [mæp], or cop [kɑp] and thought [θɑt]. Rhymes may be ‘masculine’ (one syllable) or ‘feminine’ (two syllables, with stress on the first syllable) – cat and bat are masculine rhymes and rapid [ˈræ.pɪd] and vapid [ˈvæ.pɪd] are feminine rhymes. (Yes, there can be three-plus-syllable rhymes like Camelot [ˈkæ.mə.lɑt] and Spamalot [ˈspæ.mə.lɑt], but generally the linguistic literature focuses on the one- or two-syllable rhymes.) Rhyme, as you can hopefully see with these longer examples, has to do with strings of sounds, rather than individual sounds. Assonance is the other way around: it’s generally talked about as individual vowel sounds that are repeated, not as strings – it would be very hard indeed to have strings of assonance. (I guess you could make some sort of argument about vowel hiatus, but that’s getting into the weeds, and I mostly even bring it up in jest.)
So assonance = single vowel sounds repeated across words. Got it. Seems simple enough; we all learned this in 10th grade or so. So why am I harping on about it now?
‘Cause Lin-Manuel Miranda does some weird stuff with assonance. And it’s amazing.
Let’s just jump right in and look at some of my favorite lyrics in Miranda’s oeuvre. The title song from Miranda’s debut musical In The Heights features an incredible feat of assonance:
“You need a bag with that?
The tax is added.
Once you get some practice at it,
You do rapid mathematics automatically,
Selling maxi-pads,
Fuzzy dice for taxicabs.
Practically everybody’s stressed, yes,
But they press through the mess,
Bounce checks and wonder what’s next
In the heights.”
(“In the Heights,” In the Heights, Lin-Manuel Miranda, 2008)
Reading through these lyrics, you can hear tons of assonance. Lots of repetition of [æ] (the vowel in bat) and [ɛ] (the vowel in bet). Very cool.
But actually, that’s not it. Let’s look again at these lyrics, side by side with their phonetic transcriptions.
“You need a bag with that? | ju nid ə bæg wɪð ðæt |
The tax is added. | ðɪ tæks ɪz ˈæ.ɾɪd |
Once you get some practice at it, | wʌns ju gɛt səm ˈpræk.tɪs æt ɪt |
You do rapid mathematics automatically, | ju du ˈræ.pɪd ˈmæ.θɪ.ˌmæ.tɪks ˌɑ.tə.ˈmæ.ɾɪk.li |
Selling maxi-pads, | ˈsɛ.lɪŋ ˈmæk.sɪ pædz |
Fuzzy dice for taxicabs. | ˈfʌ.zi daɪs fɚ ˈtæk.sɪ.ˌkæbz |
Practically everybody’s stressed, yes, | ˈpræk.tɪ.kə.li ˈɛv.ri.ˌbʌ.ɾiz strɛst jɛs |
But they press through the mess, | bət ðe prɛs θru ðə mɛs |
Bounce checks and wonder what’s next | baʊns tʃɛks ænd ˈwʌn.dɚ wʌts nɛkst |
In the heights.” | ɪn ðə haɪts |
Now what do we see? Lots of [æ] and [ɛ], yes, but also lots of [ɪ] (the vowel in bit). Okay, so lots of assonance… Cool?
Nope. That’s not it, either.
Think back to your 10th grade English class when you were reading A Midsummer Night’s Dream or Romeo & Juliet or whatever other Shakespeare play you were subjected to (I say lovingly, as I do enjoy Shakespeare; I just know that most 10th graders vehemently do not). Your teacher probably said something about iambic pentameter.
No, In the Heights is not written in iambic pentameter. Although, looking at it right now, this section largely seems to be iambic, with some degenerate feet sprinkled in. And therein lies the cool stuff.
What is iambic? What is a foot, and how can it be degenerate?
In poetry, a foot is a group of syllables with a specific stress pattern. (What is stress? Well… That’s a really complicated question that I’m just gonna briefly tackle with this explanation: in English, it’s a combination of pitch and loudness. Stressed syllables tend to be the loudest and the highest-pitched syllables in a word.) An iambic foot (or iamb) is an unstressed syllable followed by a stressed syllable (sometimes notated as US or x or the rather unscientific-looking duh-DUM). Conversely, a trochaic foot (trochee) is a stressed syllable followed by an unstressed one (sometimes notated as SU or x or the rather unscientific-looking DUM-duh). Some feet are bigger than two syllables, such as dactyls (SUU or x or DUM-duh-duh), but the principle remains the same: there is a specific pattern of stresses within a foot. When you line up multiple feet, you get meter. That’s what iambic pentameter is: a meter with five (penta-) iambs per line.
Since I’m getting these lyrics off google and not from the actual libretto, I can’t tell you where the line breaks are. Thus, I can’t say whether it’s pentameter or some other number of feet per line. If the lines are even a consistent length. But I can tell you quite plainly that this section of lyrics is either iambic or trochaic.
Wait, all this explanation, and I narrowed it down to two feet options?!
Yes, okay. Because I don’t know where the line breaks are, it’s difficult to say where the meter starts. Looking at the lines before this section doesn’t really clear it up, because the rhythm is different. But if I type the lyrics out in IPA with the ticks (ˈ and ˌ) marking stresses, it becomes very clear that the lyrics follow either an iambic or trochaic meter. The only real difference between iambic and trochaic meter is the starting point: does the meter start on a stressed syllable or not?
Let us assume for the time being that these lyrics are iambic. I know, I know – “let’s assume” is hardly the basis of good science, but this isn’t up for peer review, now, is it? So let’s assume we’re looking at largely iambic meter here. I’ll put brackets around the feet so you can see it clearly. I’ll bracket both the English spelling and the IPA transcription, as I assume reading IPA might be foreign to some of you, but the IPA makes the stresses really pop out.
English:
(you need) (a bag) (with that) (the tax) (is add)(ed once) (you get) (some prac)(tice at) (it you) (do ra)(pid math)(ema)(tics au)(toma)(tically) (selling) (maxi) (pads) (fuzzy) (dice for) (taxi)(cabs) (practi)(cally) (every)(body’s) (stressed) (yes but) they (press through) the (mess) (bounce) (checks and) (wonder) what’s (next in) (the heights)
IPA:
(ju ˈnid) (ə ˈbæg) (wɪð ˈðæt) (ðɪ ˈtæks) (ɪz ˈæ.)(ɾɪd ˈwʌns) (ju ˈgɛt) (səm ˈpræk.)(tɪs ˈæt) (ɪt ˈju) (du ˈræ.)(pɪd ˈmæ.)(θɪ.ˌmæ.)(tɪks ˌɑ.)(tɪ.ˈmæ.)(ɾɪk.ˌli) (ˈsɛ.lɪŋ) (ˈmæk.sɪ) (ˈpædz) (ˈfʌ.zi) (ˈdaɪs fɚ) (ˈtæk.sɪ.)(ˌkæbz) (ˈpræk.tɪ.)(kə.ˌli) (ˈɛv.ri.)(ˌbʌ.ɾiz) (ˈstrɛst) (ˈjɛs bət) ðe (ˈprɛs θru) ðə (ˈmɛs) (ˈbaʊns) (ˈtʃɛks ænd) (ˈwʌn.dɚ) wʌts (ˈnɛkst ɪn) (ðə ˈhaɪts)
You might notice some unstressed syllables didn’t make it into feet. I could have put them into three-syllable feet. I don’t really know which is a more likely description of the meter off the top of my head. (In phonology, we have this phenomenon called Optimality Theory, where we figure out what the best description of the meter is based on what rules are worse to break for that language.) Again, I don’t even have line breaks here, so I’m kind of winging parts of this analysis. For the purposes of what I want to show you, it doesn’t matter that much whether we have these floating, footless syllables or three-syllable feet. Oh! Almost forgot to define what a degenerate foot is – it’s an underdeveloped foot, that is, a foot with just one unstressed syllable. I intentionally left a couple unstressed syllables outside of feet in the above analysis so as to avoid degenerate feet. Most languages hate feet that only consist of a single unstressed syllable, and they do not parse them into feet. That’s how I’m treating those syllables here, as I think English is one such language. Again, not the most important thing in the world in the purview of this blog post, but I wouldn’t necessarily submit a phonology term paper like this. Forgive my laziness.
Okay. So we’ve got feet. They’ve been bracketed. We think the lyrics are in iambic meter. Actually, if you look at the IPA transcription, you’ll see that the meter actually reverses at the word selling. It switches from iambic to trochaic and seems to stay there through the verse, although the meter just falls apart in the last line (“bounce checks and wonder what’s next in the heights”). “Falls apart” is a mean way of saying that – I think Miranda fully intended to switch up the rhythm in this line and fill it with more stressed syllables than anticipated as a way of punctuating the end of the verse. Very cool.
Why have I given you a whole lecture on feet? We were supposed to be talking about assonance! No fear – I think we have as much information here as we need to recognize the utter awesomeness that is Lin-Manuel Miranda’s lyricism. Assonance is the repetition of vowel patterns. Let’s look at these feet again and see what the vowels are doing.
(ju ˈnid) (ə ˈbæg) (wɪð ˈðæt) (ðɪ ˈtæks) (ɪz ˈæ.)(ɾɪd ˈwʌns) (ju ˈgɛt) (səm ˈpræk.)(tɪs ˈæt) (ɪt ˈju) (du ˈræ.)(pɪd ˈmæ.)(θɪ.ˌmæ.)(tɪks ˌɑ.)(tɪ.ˈmæ.)(ɾɪk.ˌli) (ˈsɛ.lɪŋ) (ˈmæk.sɪ) (ˈpædz) (ˈfʌ.zi) (ˈdaɪs fɚ) (ˈtæk.sɪ.)(ˌkæbz) (ˈpræk.tɪ.)(kə.ˌli) (ˈɛv.ri.)(ˌbʌ.ɾiz) (ˈstrɛst) (ˈjɛs bət) ðe (ˈprɛs θru) ðə (ˈmɛs) (ˈbaʊns) (ˈtʃɛks ænd) (ˈwʌn.dɚ) wʌts (ˈnɛkst ɪn) (ðə ˈhaɪts)
I bolded two specific vowel sounds throughout the verse: [æ] (the vowel in bat) and [ɪ] (the vowel in bit). Notice how often these two vowels appear within the same foot. Lin-Manuel Miranda isn’t just matching vowel sounds; he’s matching entire feet of vowels. Note: there are some schwas ([ə], the vowel in but) that very well could be pronounced like [ɪ], as both are unstressed vowels in the contexts in which they occur in this verse. I transcribed them as schwas because that seemed a more likely pronunciation, but the point is: this verse is packed with feet containing a stressed [æ] and an unstressed kinda mid, kinda high vowel (generally [ɪ] but sometimes [ə]). This is just mind-blowingly cool to a linguist and aspiring lyricist such as myself. Hopefully you all find this as fascinating as I do and view the linguistics lessons as worthwhile.
Another interesting feature of Miranda’s lyrics is the fact that they are typically written in a distinct New York accent. This means there are tons of rhymes that work in his lyrics that would not otherwise work: “millisecond/real a second/feel a second” from Hamilton and “Shaolin/wildin’” from Warriors, to name a few.
Lin-Manuel Miranda’s lyrics are full of intricate wordplay. From the above assonance foot patterns to the “fits of passion/pits of fashion” spoonerism in “Washington On Your Side” to the bilingual alliteration of “a hurricane of jacarandas” in Encanto, his lyrics are dense and witty.
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