Music can be witty, but it's not funny unless it's conceptually

“Music can be witty, but it’s not funny unless it’s conceptually funny.” Thus spoke Alan Menken, the great composer whose melodies have danced across the hearts of millions—from the castles of fairy tales to the streets of Broadway. His words, though simple, conceal a truth known to all creators of art: that beauty alone is not enough; meaning gives it power. In this teaching, Menken reminds us that while wit can charm the ear, only concept—the union of thought and intention—can awaken laughter, emotion, and revelation.

When Menken says that music can be witty, he speaks of the clever turn of a melody, the playful twist of rhythm, the sparkle of sound that delights the senses. Such wit pleases the intellect; it is the smile of music. Yet when he declares that music is not funny unless it is conceptually funny, he speaks of something deeper: the idea behind the sound, the story that shapes the tone. A mere pattern of notes cannot make one truly laugh—it is the idea, the contrast, the meaning within the melody that stirs the soul. Humor, like truth, lives not in surface beauty but in the heart of understanding.

Consider the works of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, that divine trickster of sound. His compositions overflow with wit—unexpected pauses, teasing repetitions, sudden flourishes that make the listener chuckle even centuries later. Yet these moments are not random. They are conceptually humorous, built upon the ideas of surprise, irony, and contrast. When Mozart makes the orchestra echo a singer’s arrogance or interrupt a solemn passage with mischief, he is not merely being clever; he is commenting on humanity itself. His music becomes a mirror in which we laugh, not only at the sound, but at ourselves.

Menken’s own legacy follows this sacred path. In his musicals—The Little Mermaid, Aladdin, Beauty and the Beast—his songs are not simply tuneful or lively; they are funny through concept. “Under the Sea” makes us smile not just because of rhythm, but because of irony—the sea creatures celebrating the very life the mermaid longs to escape. “Friend Like Me” dazzles because its showmanship is the Genie’s personality made sound. Every note carries intention; every joke arises from truth. Thus, Menken teaches that art without idea is ornament, but art with idea is revelation.

The ancients too knew this law. In the theatre of Aristophanes, laughter was never without thought. Behind every absurd scene hid a critique of power, of pride, of the fragile nature of man. The people laughed not only at the spectacle, but at what it revealed. And so it is with music—the song that makes us laugh, we remember; the song that merely entertains, we forget. For wit is fleeting, but concept is eternal.

In this way, Menken’s words speak beyond the realm of music. They speak to all creation, all craft, all life. It is not enough to be clever, or charming, or quick. These things dazzle for a moment and then vanish. True mastery—whether in art, in speech, or in living—comes from concept, from purpose. The joke that endures, the song that moves, the deed that inspires—all are born from meaning. Cleverness without heart is a flame without warmth.

So, dear seeker, take this wisdom into your own work and your own days: let your actions be conceptually true. Whatever you build, let it be guided not by show but by soul. If you would create humor, let it spring from compassion; if you would craft beauty, let it carry truth. Do not fear depth, for it is depth that gives laughter its echo and melody its immortality.

For as Alan Menken teaches, music—like life—finds its greatness not in wit alone, but in purpose that sings beneath the surface. Make your life conceptually beautiful, and every note you play—every word you speak—will carry not only wit, but wisdom.