We have a saying, “That is the song the old cow died on”, for things that are often repeated.
I have frequently said and written things about our major song form that may bring about the old cow’s demise – but I don’t intend to stop saying them. Let the old cow die and you emotionally flourish.
I am saying today, for the howmuchevah time, we have to create songs that qualify as songs (rather than as versified pamphlets set to music) and touch us where we are. And to hell with what used to be and how this thing start as this or that umpteen years ago.
Do we have to stick to what used to be because it used to be? How come none of us still walking from St Joseph to town? That used to be. How come we no longer seek to enjoy the wonderful privacy of the outhouse, with the company of the God-awful stench and peeping toms and cockroaches, frogs and untold terrors of the day or night?
But we must hold on to a particular treatment of song (commentary) just because it used to be?
At any rate, if this approach is such a must-have, so essential, where are the effects?
Why is it that the countries that have the longest vibrant calypso traditions are also known as the most corrupt? Why is there almost no change along the lines of what is sung about? Time for another tack. Long time.
Meanwhile, the emotional, intimate engagement of personal issues (the real centre of life – don’t let anybody fool you) gets bypassed. Like this – an increasing occurrence in our society: a spouse falls to senile dementia or Alzheimer’s:
She shaves his face / She combs his hair / She helps him find his rocking chair / She cooks his meals / She wipes his mouth / And the window that he’s looking out / She reads him books / She speaks his name / Oh every day is much the same / She sighs that sigh from deep within / The one that says / She misses him.
(Chorus): She misses his gentle touch / And the way he used to make her laugh / She misses the man he was / In all of those old photographs / So strong, so kind, so sweet, so smart / The man who stole her very heart / She misses him. (She Misses Him – sung by Keith Urban)
No comment, just story, felt experience – touching. Like this one about the father of a differently able child:
She’s with me / I proudly tell the maître d’ as we arrive / He seems surprised / In a clumsy moment as he looks for room for her blessed chair / A table stares, and their eyes show only pity /as they try to sympathize / Oh, how difficult that must be, look away / Day after day they’ll never see the joy you bring / Only happy at the times I know that she’s with me. (She’s With Me – sung by Collin Raye)
And we need songs like these because a sense of family and commitment to family are sorely needed in our society:
There’s dirty shirts to wash / Dishes in the sink to do / And there’s how many times Does 17 go into 52 / There’s bedtime prayers to pray / Sleep tights and I love yous
And then there’s a pair of eyes / I get to lose myself into / What keeps me keepin’ the faith
What makes me believe I can / Family man.
(Chorus): They’re the world, my world revolves around / My sacred piece of solid ground / The flesh and bone / That gives me strength to stand / They are the fire in my drivin’ on / The drive behind my comin’ home / The livin’, breathin’, reason that I am / A family man. (Family Man – sung by Craig Campbell)
A wife fighting cancer – seen through her husband’s eyes:
We sat there five years ago / The doctors let us know, the test showed / She’d have to fight to live, I broke down and cried / She held me and said it’s gonna be alright
She wore that wig to church / Pink ribbon pinned there on her shirt / No room for fear, full of faith / Hands held high singing Amazing Grace / Never once complained, refusing to give up / And I thought I was tough.
(Chorus): She’s strong, pushes on, can’t slow her down / She can take anything life dishes out / There was a time / Back before she was mine / When I thought I was tough. (Tough – sung by Craig Morgan)
This one is for those who have grown up with an alcoholic father:
I remember looking up / To look up to him / And I remember most the time He wasn’t there / I’d be waiting at the door / When he got home at night / He’d pass me by to go to pass out in his chair.
(Chorus): And I’d say / Walk a little straighter daddy / You’re swaying side to side / You’re footsteps make me dizzy / And no matter how I try / I keep tripping and stumbling / If you’d look down here you’d see / Walk a little straighter daddy / You’re leading me. (Walk A Little Straighter – sung by Billy Currington)
And yuh notice it en nuh lotta words (nuh lotta long talk) – just inside-out, personal, intimate, sensory, memory-engaging, felt, experienced, there for the emotional participation. Real. Affecting. Art.
Oh, how I wish those were our songs, our calypsos.