Justin Tranter pays attention to details. This applies to all aspects of the hit songwriter’s life: his home; his fashion; his Facet Records and Publishing; the queer, vegan, and songwriting communities for which he is a proactive and vocal figurehead, and, of course, his undeniable songs.
From 2024’s inarguably biggest and most talked about chart topper, Chappel Roan’s “Good Luck Babe” (which is nominated for song of the year at this year’s Grammys) to Imagine Dragons’ “Believer,” “Natural,” and “Enemy,” Justin Bieber’s “Sorry,” DNCE’s “Cake by the Ocean,” Selena Gomez’s “Lose You to Love Me” and Fall Out Boy’s “Centuries,” as well as hits for Miley Cyrus, Reneé Rapp, Måneskin, among others, Tranter’s songwriting skills are far reaching and strike a universal chord.
When we jump on Zoom to discuss “Songs That Made Me A Songwriter,” Tranter is prepared. He took the time to read the brief and similar examples, and curate a thoughtful handful that connect directly to his many million and billion streaming songs.
Interestingly, the songs Tranter has earmarked are firstly, all from the ’90s and secondly, all written and performed by women. Tranter spent much of his teens ensconced in musical theater. At the same time, the ’90s underscored his coming-of-age years between 10 and 19. Around 15 is when he wrote his first song. “It wasn’t musicals that made me go, ‘I should try to write my own songs,” he says. “It was these women fearlessly expressing themselves.”
Another commonality is that none of his selections (bar one) is the artist’s biggest hit, or even a single for that matter. Also, they are mainly guitar songs—an instrument Tranter says, “Makes no sense to my brain,” as he holds his hand in a painful looking claw demonstrating how he plays guitar. “That’s a crazy thing to do all day,” he continues. He then moves his hands in a flowing motion to indicate playing the piano. “This looks pretty and it’s all in order.”
Tranter has written some unforgettable melodies, but he says music is secondary and that instruments have never come naturally to him (“It’s always a serious fight”). He is a lyrics first songwriter focused on storytelling. This earned him a songwriter of the year non-classical Grammy nomination last year when Tranter stepped nimbly in to host the Grammys Premiere Ceremony in 2024 (where 85% of the awards are given). Tranter reprises that host role this year. The Grammys Premiere Ceremony is viewable on the Recording Academy YouTube channel as well as live.Grammy.com starting at 12:30 PM Pacific/3:30 PM Eastern.
“Swan Dive,” Ani DiFranco
There is a live version of “Swan Dive” from Sessions at West 54th that I heard first. The album wasn’t out yet. I got a bootleg tape of her performance on that show from this amazing record store in Chicago. It was ’96 so I was maybe six months into writing songs.
The percussive, aggressive guitar riff in “Swan Dive” really spoke to me. The lyrics, coming from a feminine point of view, but still aggressive, still butch in a way, about creating your own world and working your ass off for it spoke to me as someone who was like, “I’m not afraid to work hard and I want to build my own world too.”Also, “I’m going to do my best swan dive / Into shark infested waters / I’m going to pull out my tampon / And start splashing around,” I couldn’t believe someone would say something so outlandish in such an emotional song. If people know me a little bit, they’ll understand, “Of course, this is Justin’s anthem.” But if you don’t know me, it’s a little insight into how I want to write.
“Pretty Good Year, ” Tori Amos
I’ve never listened to a man sing on purpose, only when it’s been forced upon me by society. I’ve never sought out a male singer. It’s always been an accident. When Little Earthquakes came out, I was 11. I was strictly musical theater. I was 14 when I found Tori. The first two albums were already out. The piano riff—one of the most iconic of all time—and the drama in “Pretty Good Year” is theatrical enough that the theater kid in me could embrace the alternative pop in Tori.
I was going to an arts high school in the city, but I lived way out in the country. My good friend in high school, Mary McCloskey, who was the coolest person I’d ever met in my life, lived in the city. She was the ’90s version of the ’70s: platform heels, neon pink or green eyeliner. She was a pop star to me. When it got to the lyric, “Lucy was pretty, your best friend agreed,” she paused it. She was crying and was like, “You’ll never understand how good that lyric is because you’re not a girl in this shitshow of a world. When the whole world chalks up your entire existence to how pretty you are, when you say someone is pretty, you want your best friend to say, ‘No, you’re prettier.’” Tori says that and doesn’t explain because she knows that other women and girls are going to understand how devastating that is.
I wasn’t thinking of myself as a songwriter, but to have this girl I worshiped explain to me how powerful lyrics can be was one of the first moments in my mind of, “Oh, I think I should do that. Being on Broadway would be fun, but if I could write lyrics that killed people like Tori, imagine how cool that would be.”
“Told Him the Dog Wouldn’t Run,” Patty Larkin
The year before I went to Berklee College of Music to get my songwriting degree, I went to a summer songwriting workshop at Berklee. Pat Pattison, who’s the lyric teaching god of not just Berklee but the world, brought Patty Larkin in—one of the greatest songwriters of all time—to do a masterclass for this summer songwriting workshop.
I got exposed to this song when he asked Patty to play it live. I’m 17 years old, crying while watching this brilliant lesbian who’s also one of the greatest guitar players of all time—that’s not an overstatement, that’s a fact—sing this beautiful fucking song. Then Pat broke down the artistic mathematics of her writing, pointing out every verse is four phrases. However, where she says, “I even asked him to marry me once / He told me he couldn’t because / This would be all that there was,” is the only verse that’s three phrases. It’s a phrase short, meaning nothing.
To be shown the craftsmanship of that song, but also how I can apply that to my own writing was life changing—maybe the most life changing moment for me as a songwriter. Fucking with structure to elevate the emotionality of something blew my mind and still blows my mind. She’s a major reason why I am such a good songwriter. I’ll compliment myself while complimenting her.
My band [Semi Precious Weapons] was not big by any means, but we had enough super fans that there were many young women and queer people that would come to my merch stand or to a meet and greet and cry. I always met them with love, but I never understood it until I met Patty Larkin. Ten years ago, I saw her perform at McCabe’s Guitar Shop in Santa Monica, such an intimate venue. Afterwards, she was selling her own merch. I went to buy an album I already had so I could meet her and thank her and I literally started crying like I was 12. You’re finally meeting this person that has meant so much to you and there’s nowhere to put this feeling. It made me understand a lot.
“Celebrity Skin,” Hole
For the most part, when I listen to things for pleasure and not for work, it is music that is not mainstream by any means, but I do have a love for a huge fucking sing along chorus.
I came out of the closet at 14 years old in 1994 and started wearing makeup and heels by the time I was 16. “Aviation High” was the only Semi Precious Weapons song ever taken to alternative radio so we did a whole alternative radio tour. I had toned my look down by this point, because I one, was getting older, two, I’m trying to play the fucking game. I’m still in makeup and heels because I’m alive, but I put pants on for the alternative radio tour. The amount of tweets or pictures of some fucking asshole, douchebag in the front row taking pictures of my shoes being like, “This isn’t rock and roll.” I would tweet back pictures of Bowie or Kiss saying, “So this isn’t rock and roll?” Somewhere in the ’90s, rock thought it was totally fine to hate gay people and women.
Courtney’s fearlessness in 1996 of being brilliant, being nuanced, but also not being afraid to be sexy, to wear makeup, to be a rock star, while also being a feminine rock star and a badass genius, this song really sums up that energy. I love when women say, “Go fuck yourself” musically. This is one of the best songs to ever do that. For women to have No. 1s in any genre is hard, but in rock, it’s really fucking hard—and nothing’s changed. Alternative radio is the least alternative in terms of who gets played. For Courtney to have a smash hit in that world that proudly hates women meant a lot to me as a young person and still means a lot to me today. I could have picked 10 of her songs to be on this list, because there probably are 10 or more of her songs that made me want to write songs.
“Mississippi (live Lilith fair version),” Paula Cole
Paula Cole’s entire This Fire album is bible to me. She wrote it alone. She produced it alone. She sings her fucking ass off. And she’s a piano player, so when I was trying to figure out “What’s my voice?” as a songwriter, anything that was piano-based and from a feminine point of view really caught me. Being a theater kid, truly great technical singers are still an obsession for me, and Paula Cole is one of the greatest technical singers in history, and that’s not an overstatement.
When this Lilith Fair live album came out, “Mississippi” was the first track on the second disc. The growling in the intro, the very advanced, dissonant piano parts and the crazy vocal performance ended me. Lyrics that are a total fuck you and then talking about how she likes it from behind, multidimensional, sign me up. That performance altered my DNA.