 |
| From the Album This is the Sea, 1985 |
Recently my sister and I were helping my Mom move into her new condominium and I was the only one (surprise, surprise) with any music handy. In my car were a bunch of old CD mixes and I threw on one called “Camping 1”, because I recalled that the songs were summery and leaned toward the classic rock end of the spectrum. My mom is fairly traditional and narrow in her likes (The Rankins, Holly Cole, Celine Dion, Dianna Krall, Oscar Peterson) and my sis has broader tastes, but still fairly limited to mainstream and classic rock/pop/country (Elton John, Garth Brooks, James Taylor, any number of modern singer-songwriters). I figured this mix would at least be tolerated. Mom didn’t like much of it – minor rockisms make her “hyper”, which actually translates into “stressed”. Apparently strumming an electric guitar chord is, for my mom, the sonic equivalent of taking a chainsaw to an oil drum. My sis perked up when many songs came on, such as “Waiting on a Friend” by the Stones and “Heroes” by Bowie. But both of them proclaimed one song as “terrible” and “awful” – an insult to their ears, an aggravated assault. This song was #12. “Old England” by The Waterboys.
It is run-ins like these that discombobulate me and send me back to my Top 500 writings to work it all out. Ultimately, I really don’t care what my family’s opinions are on my musical taste. It is clear that we populate entirely different philosophical planets when it comes to music, although I know how to strategically visit their homeworld when needed. For example, I can buy my Mom a Nina Simone best-of or interesting nouveau jazz-pop records and feel confident that I spread decent music around to provide an antidote to....sorry, getting opinionated again. Bottom line is that it’s quite a bit of work to find musical common ground with my Mom. It’s easier with my sis – we just harken back to 1975 and all is well. "Rocket Man" is excellent. So why do I care in this instance?
I guess I care because a) Old England is #12 ALL TIME on my list and b) it is organized around a gentle piano riff and dignified, almost hymnal, melody, and c) it has copious saxophone interludes. My assumption is that this combination of factors MUST result in general appreciation by more conservative ears. But they fucking hated it.
Why? Because Mike Scott is not the greatest singer, at least from a technical/conventional standpoint and because the last saxophone part is discordant and chaotic. No offense to my family, but these reasons confound and upset me. Scott's vocals are never great (although they’re kind of perfect in this context) and they get kind of strained at the end and the sax paroxysm obviously creates some listener agitation – but that is the apex of the song! It is the end of the narrative, it is where England is screaming its death throes and eating itself alive! It is a necessary and beautiful build up.
Perhaps I am being unfair. Mom and Sis were likely going about their business, unwrapping and unpacking, only half aware of the genius on the stereo and only began to pay attention at the assaultive crescendo. If one does not pay attention to the build, the conclusion may be heard as bombastic, unnecessary noise. So I’ll let them off the hook.
Rocks Songs and Imperialistic Decay
The Brits (and for convenience, the Irish, since U2 needs to be included in this category) have an exclusive knack for hymnal, self-critical rock songs that sonically and lyrically capture the essence of the UK’s historical past and current degradation. These are songs of ironic nostalgia and damning critique of contemporary nationhood. Let’s make a Top 5 list, shall we:
Top 5 Songs By British Artists About Nationalistic Mourning
1. Old England – The Waterboys
2. 51st State – New Model Army
3. Something About England – The Clash
4. Heartland – The The
5. Sunday Bloody Sunday – U2
Usually some metaphor is at play in these songs’ narratives. In the case of Old England, the allegory is an old, dilapidated man who is clearly facing death, but who is obstinate to the end, stubbornly clinging to romanticized notions of the Empire’s glorious past. Mourning lost traditions of course obfuscates the problems of the present, problems that the old society could not possibly address or even understand. The new world is a cruel one of fear, poverty, pollution, and decay, and whose genesis lies in generations of cold detachment by the ruling class. Here, Scott is influenced by Yeats (the first two lines of the final verse are his) and Joyce (who penned the phrase “Old England is Dying”).
A man looks up on a yellow sky
And the rain turns to rust in his eyes
The rumours of his health are lies
Old England is dying
His clothes are a dirty shade of blue
And his ancient shoes worn through
He steals from me and lies to you
Old England is dying
Still he sings an Empire song
Still he keeps his navy strong
And he sticks his flag where it ill-belongs
Old England is dying
You’re asking what makes me sigh now
What it is that makes shudder so
Well I just freeze in the wind
and I’m numb from the pummeling of the snow
That falls from high in yellow skies
Where the well-loved flag of England flies
Where homes are warm and mothers sigh
Where comedians laugh and babies cry
Where criminals are televised
politicians fraternize
journalists are dignified
and everyone is civilized
and children stare with heroin eyes, heroin eyes, heroin eyes
Old England is dying
But this is the trick – the Waterboys make you feel sorry for the Old Man/Old England, which is the equivalent of taking pity on a war criminal because he is not of this time, ravaged by disease, and suffering in his own dishonor. How they manage to do this is fascinating because there is no direct redemption of any sort in the lyrics – just persecution and regret.
I think they accomplish this feeling of pity (and profoundly so) through the use of musical idioms that temper and even recast the lyrics. What sounds make one think fondly of imperialist England? Chimes and military drums, of course. The chimes that open the song remind of Protestantism, somehow, and the percussion is an austere snare in a dignified march rhythm. The piano chords keep a measured pace accordingly, never straying off their eighth note beat. Then we hear Karl Wallinger’s (later of World Party) synthesized harmonium in the high register, wistful and regretful and reminiscent of classical/religious dirges and hymns. Finally, the understated backing vocal hums remind of soldiers and state funerals, the sort of sound that would fit snugly on Pink Floyd’s The Wall or The Final Cut. The totality of the feeling is heart-breakingly sombre, an anachronistic pride.
The saxophone, however, throws a veritable wrench into this noble recipe. It is feels antithetical to the structured discipline of the song. It tears at the pageantry and veneer. How often does one hear an anguished, raging sax in church? (Well, in a Protestant church – the southern Baptists might rock that shit out). Who is the voice of the sax? Is it the last, draining humanity of the Old England person/country/symbol? Is it the raging against the dying of the light? Is it the last bellowing regrets of a killer to its victims?
I think it is fairly ridiculous that I get all of this from production and composition and maybe I am exaggerating the musical transmission of message. Maybe I should be embarrassed. I would love to ask Mike Scott, but one can infer from his liner notes that everything is intentional, as he presents his own musical style and techniques as including: “a belief in music and song as forces of transformation and evocation” and “the conviction that music can evoke landscape and the elements, inspiring a sense of place”. Any Joe could say such things, but Scott accomplishes them, and magically so on Old England.
But that could be 20/20 post-production hindsight. It’s quite possible that the Waterboys did not compose the song in such a symbolically literate manner. The sax guy probably said, “eh, mates, shall I throw a solo in here then?” But I would like to think it was songcraft of premeditated genius.
