You can read it here
http://s90394320.onlinehome.us/You%20asked%20for%20it.htm

But it's hard on the eyes. So hope Jim doesn't mind if I copy this below. it's a good read and good food for thought when receiving coments.


You Asked for It: On Handling Critiques by Jim Melko


You Asked for It

On Handling Criticism and Collaboration

Presenting a Song - Why Bother?

Gene Fowler, a noted journalist and biographer (1890-1960), once noted, "Writing is easy; all you do is sit staring at a blank sheet of paper until the drops of blood form on your forehead." The bloodletting doesn’t really begin, however, until the writer presents his or her work to fellow craftsmen for critiquing.
Why do we do it? After the thrill of inspiration, the agony of crafting, the thrill of finishing, and the pride of creating, the songwriter then turns to his or her peers and asks for "honest feedback" - somewhat the equivalent of requesting exploratory surgery without anesthetic.
Actually, there are many reasons why we invite criticism of our work. Depending on the songwriter’s level of dedication to mastering the craft, any one or all of the reasons may apply.

Affirmation
No matter how much we insist that we are primarily looking for constructive criticism, there isn’t one of us who doesn’t thrill to the praise of our peers. Sometimes, however - even when we do claim we are looking for suggestions for improvement - what we are secretly expecting is a unanimous endorsement: "It’s great!" "Wouldn’t touch a word of it!" "This baby is going all the way to the top!"

Comments
Obviously one of the primary reasons to invite others to critique my song is that I want to know how I can improve it. One of the fundamental problems with any artistic endeavor is that the artist sees the work not only as a product of the craft but also as a product of the intentions. Most of the time, I believe I have communicated what I intended to communicate through a song. It is only when I hear the reactions of others that I can see that my song is confusing, or that it’s misleading, or that it’s sending a completely different message than I intended. The frequency with which writers exclaim, "Now why didn’t I see that?" is a reliable indicator of how incapable we are of seeing the problems in our own work - and just about every songwriter I’ve ever met has expressed discouragement that he or she can see the flaws in the songs of others, but not in his or her own songs.

Education
Critiquing sessions are also valuable educational experiences in the craft of songwriting. The songwriter who has yet to master hook placement will learn more in a critiquing session that calls for her to "frame" her hook in the chorus than she ever will in abstract lessons about power positioning. Likewise, participating in a critique in which one’s own initial judgment that another writer’s song is "perfect" is countered by a substantial list of recommended improvements from the rest of the group can lead to important revelations about how much one still has to learn.

Feedback and Suggestions
Critiquing usually takes one of two forms, either of which can be helpful.
First is feedback - reactions from other songwriters as a demanding audience. Feedback provides the songwriter with a test of how well the message as been communicated, and how effectively it was delivered; in other words, the critiquer’s reactions are provided. Here are a few samples of feedback statements:
• This doesn’t work for me.
• This sounded funny.
• I don’t understand this.
• This bothered me.
• This is confusing.
• This is what I heard - is that what you wanted?
In contrast, suggestions – the critiquer’s own contributions of craft and creativity – can actually provide the songwriter with answers for resolving issues:
• Here’s a way to fix it.
• Here’s the way to fix it.
• Here’s the way I’d write it.
• Junk everything you’ve done and do it this way.
Either kind of critique – feedback or suggestions – can be helpful, but they can also be harmful. The problem every songwriter faces in evaluating a critique is determining which comments are worth paying attention to, and which ones should be ignored.

Co-Writing and Ownership
Not dissimilar to the issue of judging the value of critiques is that of negotiating the co-writing relationship. The agony of Solomon’s decision in determining the true mother of the child is a familiar agony to the songwriter faced with the prospect of "divorcing" a co-writer with regard to a song project. If the co-writer has put in some effort but the song isn’t working, how can the original writer take the song back to work with someone else? Who gets what? What stays, and what goes?

A Proposal for Resolving Differences: Song Vision
To both the problem of choosing which critiques to consider and the problem of pulling out of a co-writing situation, I offer this discerning question: who has the vision for the song?
What do I mean by the "vision for the song"?
Any song is an attempt to communicate that uses two languages: words and music. What lies behind the song, of course, is the idea for what is to be communicated: the vision for the song. The vision for the song can be not only the means for identifying which critiques are worthwhile and which ones are possibly irrelevant, but also for determining primary ownership of a song.
If a critique matches or enhances the songwriter’s vision for a song, then it is worth considering. Too, if a critique leads the songwriter to find a better vision for the song - even if it is different from the original - then obviously that critique, too, is worth considering. But if a critique is "out in left field" - apparently irrelevant to what the songwriter wants to achieve - then it is probably worth dismissing.
Likewise, when two co-writers separate after starting to work together on a song, the writer who had the original vision for the song is the one who should retain the ownership. If the other writer or writers contributed elements that could be used in a different song of their own, great! As hard as it may be to accept, if the second writer contributed something unique that would only work in that song, the original writer should ethically leave that contribution behind. (However, depending on the nobility of the second writer’s nature, that contribution could make a nice friendly gift to the original writer. Just a thought....)
The co-writer who has the original vision for the song is the "host", so to speak, for all other co-writers who participate. If the "host songwriter" is not satisfied with the suggestions of potential co-writers - if their contributions can be completely removed from the song - then he or she should be free to reject those contributions and either write the song without collaborating or pursue other co-writers.
Once, however, co-writers become completely involved - to the extent that there is no question of any of them pulling out without retaining a writing credit - then all writers should be sharing that vision and the attempt to realize it. Collaboration will inevitably fail when the writers involved have different visions for the song.
In fact, I have found song vision to be a useful measure in deciding whether or not to co-write a song in the first place. If my potential co-writer doesn’t share my vision for my song idea, or if I don’t share the vision for my potential co-writer’s song idea, then I don’t co-write – it’s that simple.

What Constitutes a "Song Vision"?
The original idea for the story or plot, or the original conceptualization of the characters would generally be a reasonable vision for a song. If a songwriter comes up with that kind of idea, it makes sense that he or she would want to find co-writers who are interested in co-developing the idea, not co-writers who would completely change it and want to write something else.
Likewise, the original idea for a message to be conveyed by the song could constitute a song vision. If a songwriter has a burning desire to communicate a particular idea or thought, co-writers should be committed to communicating the same message.
In a completely different vein, the host songwriter may have started with the melody for a song, or at least a significant part of the melody. He or she may have an idea for what that melody is saying, or may be completely clueless and open to lyric suggestions that seem to have prosody with the melody.

What is not a song vision?
It may surprise some that I would suggest that the idea for a hook is not a song vision. If the idea for a hook is developed - if the host writer has already figured out how to "prove" the hook, how to build the story, message, or idea that pays off into the hook - well, then the host writer also has the original idea for the story, plot, characters, or message. Too, if the host writer has come up with the music or melody that clearly captures the lyrical hook, then he or she is starting with a significant part of the melody.
But the hook phrase alone, with no other development, is essentially a title without a song - and a title or phrase is not legally capable of being registered for copyright protection. If, for example, I am tossing around the phrase "a hole in one" and have no other developed idea for the phrase - except, perhaps, that it should tie in some golf references - then I don’t have a vision for a song. I simply have a phrase that I should jot down in my idea notebook. (In fact, given that I haven’t developed that phrase any further in this article, I freely offer it as a potential hook to the reader.)
Likewise, a chord progression is not a song vision. The same chord progression can be shared by many different songs that have nothing else in common. The same goes for musical riffs, or musical or even lyrical motifs.
Before anyone gets the idea that I am only using copyright protection as a criterion, however, I would also suggest that a great line for a song - or even multiple lines - do not constitute a song vision either, even though they may be protected by copyright law. Recently, I gave a potential co-writer four opening lines to a first verse that have already been part of two now-discarded lyrics. I love those four lines, and I am certain that they will someday be the start of a great lyric - but if I knew for certain what that lyric was going to be about, I’d have a vision for the song. As it is, I’m hoping my potential co-writer will come up with one.
And guess who will be the host songwriter if he does? Nope – not me!
If that songwriter does come up with an idea for developing the song and I don’t like his idea, then I’ll take my four lines and go elsewhere. Meanwhile, that songwriter is free to pursue that song vision using his own opening lines.

Song Vision and Song Blindness
Often, beginning songwriters will "complete" a song and still be utterly without vision for it. Again, the vision is about what is to be communicated. If there is no real intent to communicate or if the message isn’t defined, then there is no vision.
There are those songwriters who consider themselves to be profound artists of self-expression. Their lyrics are intensely personal, to the extent that the task for the listener is to understand the songwriter’s perspective. Contrary to the usual purpose of the songwriter to communicate something that reaches out and touches the listener, the "songwriter artiste" believes that his or her own perspective is a significant truth that others must shoulder the responsibility of understanding.
To paraphrase an old saying, he who only looks inward is blind. There is no vision to be shared with anyone else in such a song.
Then there are also those songwriters who are completely confused. They are usually beginning songwriters, but more advanced writers can also still experience that confusion from time to time.
The confused writer is generally unable to articulate what he or she wants to communicate simply because no message was ever conceived. Sometimes the writer mistakes the lack of clarity for profundity. Sometimes the writer even gets away with it. For example, does anyone really know what "I Am the Walrus" is about? Even John Lennon had to admit later that he got the Lewis Carroll characters backwards, and that he really intended to portray himself as the Carpenter.
Likewise, music without prosody does not constitute a song vision. Some writers assemble chord progressions and melodies that are essentially exercises in complexity - "full of sound and fury, signifying nothing." (Look Ma, I can modulate from C major to G flat!) Again, if nothing is being communicated, there is no vision.
Beginning songwriters can also achieve the opposite of the self-important musical composition, and write music that serves only as a background to the lyric. Music that is bland to the point of saying nothing - or irrelevant to the lyrical message - is again communicating nothing, and does not constitute a vision.

The Critical Criteria: Does the Critique Match the Vision?
Where there’s a match, there’s a spark. When the critique hits home and helps to realize the songwriter’s vision, then no one has a problem.
But what if there isn’t a match?
Well, I’ve found that the answer depends on the type of criticism – whether it’s in the form of feedback or suggestions.
If the feedback doesn’t match with my vision for the song, then I know I am not communicating well. Comments such as the following tell me that the song isn’t communicating effectively:
1. This doesn’t work for me.
2. This sounded funny.
3. This bothered me.
4. This is confusing.
Comments like these tell me that I’m not communicating clearly:
1. I don’t understand this.
2. This is confusing.
3. This is what I heard - is that what you wanted?
If the suggestions do not match my vision for the song, then those suggestions represent a different vision than my own. In that case, I have several options:
1. If I still prefer my vision, I will discard the critique.
2. If I can incorporate the suggestions and improve the vision for my song, I will modify my vision (note: in this case, there is some potential for collaboration with the suggestion-maker).
3. If I think the suggestion is much better than my original vision, I will move on with a new vision (again, note the potential for collaboration here).

When a Critique Goes Bad….
Ask an opinion of one person, and you get a different perspective. Ask an opinion of a group of songwriters, and you get multiple personality disorder.
Many songwriters will tell everyone that they welcome any and all critiques, that they always find value in criticism. Theirs is a faith that can move mountains – the only problem is that the mountains don’t always need moving.
There are as many types of criticism as there are perspectives, and I won’t pretend to cover them all. But if we are aware of some of the most common types, we may be more prepared to recognize and beware of them.

Follow the rules
The number of songwriters whose teeth are bared at the mention of songwriting "rules" is matched only by the number of songwriters who fanatically believe in them. The problem is that we confuse standards with rules.
A standard is a widely accepted way of doing things or a generally established expectation for quality (such as the standard used in Nashville for songs, "commercially viable"). Standards help to define excellence, but innovation often violates standards – and then even redefines them. For example, the Beatles certainly defied standards before their work became the new standard.
By contrast, a rule is a rigid expectation that must be met for acceptance. A rule embodies the conceit that a single principle can apply to all situations and forever define what is proper.
One of my favorite lines from my pastor is, "Wanna make God laugh? Tell Him you have a plan." That line is easily extended to, "Wanna make a good songwriter laugh? Tell him there’s a rule…."
A standard can be useful to help us aim higher, but a rule can actually detract from a good song if it is inappropriately applied. In our workshop, we have two rules:
1. Every song has its own set of rules.
2. Your job is to figure out what they are without messing it up.
So when someone tells you something isn’t "right" because it violates a rule, be wary. If someone tells you something isn’t "right" because it interferes with communication - it’s not clear, or it offends, or it’s distracting - then there probably is a problem.
Your job isn’t to satisfy someone else’s rules. Your job is to communicate as effectively as you can – and if that means doing something no one else has ever done (and violating the "rules" in the process), then you may have set a new standard for songwriting excellence!

Defensive Whining
Defensiveness is a natural reaction to an attack on something we love. Even the most advanced songwriters undoubtedly fight the tendency to be defensive when they hear criticism.
By now, you’ve probably noticed that I love to categorize, because to name it is to know it. In leading our workshop for more than eight years, I’ve observed several forms of defensiveness:
First strike: critiquing your song before you even present it. ("I know that the chorus doesn’t work, and the second verse really stinks, but I just want your feedback….") For those of you who tend to do this, I have one word of advice: shut up. Maybe your song really does reek, but that doesn’t excuse you from the rigors of getting an honest critique. Let the song speak for itself; if it’s ever going to go anywhere, it’s going to do it without you tagging along to apologize for it.
Good intentions: explaining what you intended to say before you hear what was communicated. Again, shut up and let the song speak for itself. If your message isn’t received as you intended it, wait until the critique ends and then share what you intended so that you can hear why it didn’t work.
Filibustering: filling up the air and/or your critiquing time with your own voice in a conscious or unconscious attempt to head off criticism. Our critique sessions are often timed to ensure we get through all the songs we have to hear, and I’ve seen many songwriters waste their allotted time telling us how they came to write the song or what they think of it. Again, shut up. Recognize your need to talk for what it is: a way of sheltering your song from criticism.
Lack of engagement: writing a song and never presenting it for critiquing. Learning from critiques is the primary means for advancing your level of craft. Get on with it!

I Can’t Believe What I’m Seeing
Wherever there are people gathered together, there is weirdness. It may be because we are so intent on our vision that we can’t see the obvious. Other times, there is such a gap between the reactions to the song and our vision for it that we feel as if we’ve stepped into the Twilight Zone. Once again, I’ve seen this take several forms, both good and bad:
The aliens have landed: what in the world are they talking about? I have heard songwriters complain that one of the taped critiques they’ve received sounds like the reviewer was accidentally talking about someone else’s song. I believe, however, that sometimes our vision is so strong - or our defenses are so high - that we simply cannot see the relevance of a critique. Whenever you begin to wonder what planet your critiquer is on, it’s probably a good time to step back and try to listen with an open mind and a different perspective. Maybe the critiquer missed a critical line or made an absurd interpretation – but there’s also a good chance that you miscommunicated.
Third time’s a charm: why do people keep saying that? The idea of using "song vision" to judge critiques is not without its perils. If the "irrelevant" or "useless" comment we discarded the first time comes up again in subsequent critiques, then we need to pay attention to it – there may be a problem to which we’ve been blind because our vision was too strong.
The benevolent wolf pack: I think I’ve been mauled. Consider the following scenario:
1. Critiquer #1 has a problem with something in the song.
2. Critiquer #2 asks #1 for clarification.
3. Critiquer #1 attempts to explain.
4. Critiquer #3 tries to interpret #1 in an attempt to help.
5. Now that it’s important, everyone is trying to understand the problem.
6. Suggestions are made; time is consumed.
7. Critiquer #1 has been validated; the songwriter has quite possibly been violated.
What just happened? Well, first of all, it’s quite possible that Critiquer #1 was really on to something – that there really is a problem with the song. However, it’s also quite possible that Critiquer #1 simply wasn’t prepared to critique – a classic example of saying something before one has something to say. The rest of what follows is just human nature – we prefer consensus, we prefer that everyone be happy.
The "wolf pack" syndrome can be avoided if we don’t fall prey (no pun intended) to the need to be acknowledged. When a song doesn’t feel right, but we can’t put our finger on the problem, it’s a good time to remain silent until we do figure it out – even if that means approaching the songwriter privately after the workshop and sharing our concerns. If you give in to the temptation to make your feelings known when you can’t define the problem, you will probably set off the wolf pack syndrome.

Songwriting Is Messy
The principle of "song vision" may be an improvement on how we already tend to deal with collaboration and critiques, but I would not try to claim that it’s a perfect answer. Inevitably, there are going to be problems; inevitably, we will experience rejection and conflict. But the alternatives of not collaborating and not presenting songs at all is doomed to result in failure.
I hope that "song vision" will in fact help you clarify the issues and find the answers that will lead to the crafting of great songs. No matter what, there will come the day when your song either stands alone, or when it is completely forgotten. To do nothing ensures the latter outcome; but collaboration and critiquing will help you elevate your sense of craft and draw nearer to the success you crave for your songs. It may be painful, but, hey! You asked for it!

- Jim Melko