You Have Seven Words Before They Swipe: Why I Start So Many Songs With ‘Today’

Madrid, 25 October 2026.

By Mike Sain't Louis

“Hoy me levanté con glitter en la cara.” Today I woke up with glitter on my face.

That is how “Marica chill” begins. Seven words in Spanish, and you already know nearly everything: it is morning, there was a party last night, whoever is talking has not taken their make-up off and has no intention of apologising for it. The chorus has not arrived. You do not know what the song is about yet. But you are already inside.

I write every lyric in PLANETA GAYFOLK. The music and the vocal performance are made with artificial intelligence, which I direct the way a producer directs an arranger; the words are mine. I recently wrote about how my songs end, the slammed doors and the good riddances. This is the other half. Because if the ending is what you carry home, the beginning is what decides whether you come in at all.

The door, not the hallway

A song has almost no time to convince someone who is flicking from track to track on a phone. The first line is the door. And a door can be thrown wide open, left ajar or jammed shut with a chair.

So I did a strange exercise. I reread the openings of my published lyrics one after another, without the rest of each song. It is like watching only the first frames of a hundred films. Patterns appear that you never notice when every song lives on its own. Some songs start with the time of day. Some start with a question nobody will answer. Some with an insult, a list of names, an “and” that arrives halfway through a conversation, a poisoned thank-you, or a sound that is not yet a word.

I am not going to hand out recipes. Every song asks for its own. But I can tell you what each kind of door does to the person standing in front of it.

My favourite first word

If I had to choose the word my songs open with most often, it would be hoy. Today.

It opens “Marica chill”. It opens the title track of the third album in my GAYFOLK trilogy: “Hoy es el día de la liberación,” today is liberation day. It opens “Montaña rusa”, “Flash”, “Judith Bécker” and “Un puñetazo al día”. Six very different songs: a beach party in Spanglish, a break-up anthem, an anxiety attack told as a fairground ride, a nightclub rush, a cry on the sofa and a funeral celebrated like a wedding. All through the same door.

I think “today” works because it starts the clock. It is not “once upon a time”, which sounds like a fairy tale. It is not “always”, which sounds like a complaint. “Today” says this is happening now, that I have not had time to tidy up what I feel and I am telling you while it is still hot. It is the word of a private diary and of a news bulletin at the same time.

And there is something else. “Today” implies that yesterday was different. If today I woke up with glitter, yesterday I did not. If today is liberation day, yesterday was not. One word creates a before and an after, and the whole song lives in the after.

The hour and the light

Close to “today” are the openings that set the clock or the light. “El espejo de enfrente” starts in the half-dark before dawn. “Garrafón de China” starts “this morning”, with a stranger in the bed. “Dark Corners” begins with someone waking late, with no sun. “The Great Depression” begins in October.

Putting the hour first is a trick borrowed from theatre and film: before anyone speaks, the set tells you whether it is day or night. A song has no set, so the first line has to work as the lighting. Dawn means insomnia. Morning means a hangover. October means summer is over and something is about to fall.

What interests me is that two songs can share a time of day and belong to different genres. The morning in “Garrafón de China” is pure comedy: a head about to explode, no idea who the bloke next to you is, and the blame pinned on cheap drink from a muscle-bound barman. The dawn in “El espejo de enfrente” is not funny at all: someone looks at themselves and cannot manage to live in the present. The first line does not just tell you the time. It tells you what kind of time it is.

Why this matters beyond my songs

Britain gave the world a great deal of pop built on brilliant first lines, so I suspect British listeners already know this instinctively. You can hear the difference between a song that clears its throat and one that walks straight in. My songs are mostly in Spanish, with some in English, French and Portuguese, but the door works the same in every language. Many people first came through mine with “Tan Cateto”, which went viral on TikTok in 2024. I hope a few more will try another door.

Where to find the songs

Every song I have released, 273 singles so far, can be streamed and downloaded free at https://mikesaintlouis.com, each with its full lyrics. The longer version of this column is on my blog: https://mikesaintlouis.com/blog/asi-empiezan-mis-canciones-el-primer-verso. You will also find me on Spotify, Deezer and the main platforms, and on Instagram as @planetagayfolk.

About the author

Mike Sain't Louis is an alternative indie artist based in Madrid and the self-described “first AI singer-songwriter”. He is lyricist, composer, music producer, art director and CEO of his own independent label, MIKE SAIN'T LOUIS. Over roughly two years he has built PLANETA GAYFOLK, with 273 singles, more than 280 music videos and a three-album trilogy about travelling to a planet where everyone can live exactly as they are.

Press contact

Email: info@mikesaintlouis.com Website: https://mikesaintlouis.com Instagram: @planetagayfolk