Fast Food -- Richard Thompson

Guest poem submitted by Amit Chakrabarti, the
second in his guest theme (popular songs about urban problems):

(Poem #932) Fast Food Big mac, small mac, burger and fries Shove 'em in boxes all the same size Easy on the mustard, heavy on the sauce Double for the fat boy, eats like a horse. Fry them patties and send 'em right through Microwave oven going to fry me too Can't lose my job by getting in a rage Got to get my hands on that minimum wage. Shove it in their faces, give 'em what they want Got to make it fast, it's a Fast Food Restaurant. Shake's full of plastic, meat's full of worms Everything's zapped so you won't get germs Water down the ketchup, easier to pour on Pictures on the register in case you're a moron. Keep your uniform clean, don't talk back Blood down your shirt going to get you the sack Sugar, grease, fats and starches Fine to dine at the golden arches. Shove it in their faces, give 'em what they want Got to make it fast, it's a Fast Food Restaurant. Baby thrown up, booth number 9 Wash it down, hose it down, happens all the time Cigarettes in the coffee, contact lens in the tea I'd rather feed pigs than humanity. Shove it in their faces, give 'em what they want Got to make it fast, it's a Fast Food Restaurant. -- Richard Thompson

[Comments]

Little needs to be added by way of commentary to this wonderful piece of
vituperation. I only wonder why a certain extremely infamous and huge
company didn't go after Thompson, given such explicit lyrics as "Big Mac"
and "golden arches".

I find it fascinating that someone actually decided to dedicate a poem
(okay, a song) to this topic! That's originality.

-Amit.

[Notes]

For those who want to listen to the song, it's on the 1994 album "Mirror
Blue" about which I have raved earlier. But the ravings bear repeating. So
here goes: The album is a brilliant mix of wonderful Celtic acoustic
ballads, up-to-date rockers, biting social commentary and broken-hearted
love songs. If you're even vaguely interested in folk rock, buy this album.
Now.

Today's piece is set to full-blown Celtic folk accompaniment. The contrast
they make with the subject matter still gets me smiling, even after dozens
of listens.

[Links]

There's one other Richard Thompson song on Minstrels. It is also from
"Mirror Blue": Poem #299: "Taking My Business Elsewhere"

A brief bio of Thompson is included there.

Proud Maisie -- Sir Walter Scott

(Poem #931) Proud Maisie Proud Maisie is in the wood, Walking so early; Sweet Robin sits on the bush, Singing so rarely. "Tell me, thou bonny bird, When shall I marry me?" "When six braw gentlemen Kirkward shall carry ye." "Who makes the bridal bed, Birdie, say truly?" "The grey-headed sexton That delves the grave duly. "The glow-worm o'er grave and stone Shall light thee steady. The owl from the steeple sing, 'Welcome, proud lady'." -- Sir Walter Scott

Notes:
  Sung by the madwoman Madge Wildfire on her deathbed in chapter XL of
  The Heart of Midlothian (1818).
        -- http://www.library.utoronto.ca/utel/rp/poems/scott7.html

  Maisie: Mary. -- Palgrave

Here's what Palgrave has to say about today's poem:

  Scott has given us nothing more complete and lovely than this little
  song, which unites simplicity and dramatic power to a wildwood music of
  the rarest quality. No moral is drawn, far less any conscious analysis of
  feeling attempted; the pathetic meaning is left to be suggested by the
  mere presentment of the situation. Inexperienced critics have often named
  this, which may be called the Homeric manner, superficial, from its
  apparent simple facility; but first-rate excellence in it (as shown here,
  and in cxcvi., clvi., and cxxix.) is in truth one of the least common
  triumphs of poetry. This style should be compared with what is not less
  perfect in its way, the searching out of inner feeling, the expression of
  hidden meanings, the revelation of the heart of Nature and of the soul
  within the soul-the analytical method, in short, most completely
  represented by Wordsworth and Shelley.

        -- Francis T. Palgrave, "The Golden Treasury"

I agree with him as to the poem's rare beauty, but I cannot help but feel
that a moral is implicit in the adjective 'proud'. The poem is strongly
reminiscent of cautionary ballads like "Barbara Allen", where, at least for
a woman, the wages of pride were death.

However, 'Proud Maisie' does, as Palgrave points out, differ from the
pattern by being simply tragic, rather than cautionary. The very
understatedness of the exchange helps underscore its sombre tone - compared
to lines like

                As she was walkin o'er the fields
                She heard the dead-bell knellin',
                And every jow that the dead-bell geid,
                Cried, "Woe to Barbara Allen!"

Scott's verse has a quiet dignity that resonates well with the 'magical'
aspects of the poem - the lonely woodland setting, and the bird dealing out
prophecies of death (compare Poe's "Raven").

Formwise, today's poem, while a little short, fits well into the ballad
pattern. To quote Arthur Quiller-Couch, in "The Oxford Book of Ballads":

  If any man ever steeped himself in balladry, that man was Scott, and once
  or twice, as in Proud Maisie and Brignall Banks, he came near to distil
  the essence.

To be precise, "Proud Maisie" is a literary ballad, a narrative poem written
in deliberate imitation of the ballad form, and intended to be read rather
than sung. (See the links for an excellent guide to literary terms, covering
ballads, ballad stanza and the literary ballad.)

Links:
  Biography:
    http://www.blupete.com/Literature/Biographies/Literary/Scott.htm

  Musical settings:
        [broken link] http://www.recmusic.org/lieder/s/scott/maisie.html

  Here's a wonderful essay on Scott:
        http://www.bartleby.com/223/0706.html

  The complete "Heard of Midlothian" online:
    http://www2.arts.gla.ac.uk/SESLL/STELLA/STARN/prose/WSCOTT/HEARTMID/contents.htm

  A definition of ballads, ballad stanza and literary ballads
        http://icdweb.cc.purdue.edu/~felluga/guide241.html#ballad

  And an essay on the ballad in its various manifestations:
    http://www.tnellen.com/cybereng/ballad.html

  Perhaps the classic example of the literary ballad is Keats's "La Belle
  Dame Sans Merci" poem #182

  Other poems by Scott on Minstrels:
        Poem #125, "Lochinvar"
        Poem #415, "The Truth of Woman"
        Poem #495, "Marmion"

-martin

Town Called Malice -- Paul Weller

Chiming in on the theme we have guest minstrel Susan Wilkes:

(Poem #930) Town Called Malice You'd better stop dreaming of the quiet life 'cos it's the one we'll never know And quit running for that runaway bus 'cos those rosy days are few And stop apologising for the things you've never done 'cos time is short and life is cruel, but it's up to us to change This town called malice. Rows and rows of disused milk floats stand dying in the dairy yard And a hundred lonely housewives clutch empty milk bottles to their hearts Hanging out their old love letters on the line to dry It's enough to make you stop believing when tears come fast and furious In a town called malice. Struggle after struggle, year after year The atmosphere's a fine blend of ice, I'm almost stone cold dead In a town called malice. A whole street's belief in Sunday's roast beef gets dashed against the Co-op To either cut down on beer or the kids new gear It's a big decision in a town called malice. The ghost of a steam train, echoes down my track It's at the moment bound for nowhere, just going round and round Playground kids and creaking swings, lost laughter in the breeze I could go on for hours and I probably will, but I'd sooner put some joy back In this town called malice. -- Paul Weller

 Lyrics by Paul Weller. Performed by the Jam.

About a year ago, I happened to write this to two friends: "The Jam are a
part of one of the most beautiful musical memories I have.  I was 16, and
had just decided I was leaving home (though I was 17 by the time I moved).
My brother's band was playing at a bar in Peterborough, Ontario. It had been
an *amazing* night, and I was helping them pack up.  They were playing a
tape through the PA system which meant the music was very, very loud.  "Town
Called Malice" came on; we turned it up louder, and danced/raced/ran up and
down the length of this bar.  I could *not* get enough - this intense
physical expression - being 16 and with a body not big enough to contain it
all - gotta run, gotta dance, gotta move on.  I swear, I think of that night
as my youth."

That night in the bar was in 1982, and now I add - this is truly one of my
all time favourite songs.  I read the lyrics and my body starts moving to
the wicked music, and I hear Paul Weller's voice booming.  But I do think
the lyrics stand alone.  In bleak moods, I'm sure I mostly related to "It's
enough to make you stop believing when tears come fast and furious", but
even at the angst-ridden age of 16, I think I always preferred "I could go
on for hours and I probably will, but I'd sooner put some joy back in this
town called malice."  I think there's so much else there as well, and I
still like to listen to it very, very loud.

By the way, Paul Weller was pretty much a kid then, too - just a few years
older than me.  He's gone on to write some more pretty amazing songs...

Susan.

Synchronicity II -- Gordon Matthew 'Sting' Sumner

Guest poem submitted by Amit Chakrabarti, the
first in a guest theme:

(Poem #929) Synchronicity II Another suburban family morning Grandmother screaming at the wall We have to shout above the din of our rice krispies We can't hear anything at all Mother chants her litany of boredom and frustration But we know all her suicides are fake, Daddy only stares into the distance There's only so much more that he can take. Many miles away something crawls from the slime at the bottom of a dark Scottish lake. Another industrial ugly morning The factory belches filth into the sky He walks unhindered through the picket lines today, He doesn't think to wonder why. The secretaries pout and preen like cheap tarts in a red light street, But all he ever thinks to do is watch, And every single meeting with his so-called superior Is a humiliating kick in the crotch. Many miles away something crawls to the surface of a dark Scottish loch. Another working day has ended. Only the rush hour hell to face Packed like lemmings into shiny metal boxes Contestants in a suicidal race. Daddy grips the wheel and stares alone into the distance He knows that something somewhere has to break He sees the family home now looming in the headlights, The pain upstairs that makes his eyeballs ache. Many miles away there's a shadow on the door of a cottage on the shore of a dark Scottish lake. -- Gordon Matthew 'Sting' Sumner

[Comments]

The British rock trio known as "The Police" were on the verge of a breakup
and Sting was setting out on his singer-songwriter solo career when this
song was written. Thus, it captures Sting the Songwriter in his early years.
Already apparent are his gifts for vivid imagery and his ability to bring
out a bigger picture through little snapshots. Notice how with just a
handful of descriptive words Sting adds life to his scenes, e.g. "packed
like lemmings into shiny metal boxes" -- no mention of trains and noise and
crowds and jostling, but can't you just see it? Again, we're not told what
"pain upstairs" is seen "looming" in the headlights (lovely choice of word),
but we can guess.

To cap it all, Stings add a touch of surrealism by setting off his images of
urban angst against an ominous refrain involving the (never directly
mentioned) Loch Ness monster. What a touch!

-Amit.

[Notes]

For those who want to hear the song, it's on the hugely popular 1983 album
called "Synchronicity". The accompanying music features some nice interplay
between the band members, and cool Loch Ness monster sound effects.

[Links]

Other Sting songs on Minstrels:
Poem #114 "The Soul Cages"
Poem #287 "Mad About You"

[Trivia]

Sting seems to've bought the (possibly Disney-created) myth that Lemmings
commit group suicide every now and then when their population increases too
much. I can't claim to know what the truth
is, but see this site
      http://www.snopes2.com/disney/films/lemmings.htm

[On the theme]

It occurred to me that rock/pop lyrics are a vast enough body of work to be
able to supply a theme by themselves. Anyway, I recently noticed that three
very unrelated songs I like happen to talk about "urban problems" in a broad
sense. Hence the theme.

Quiescent, a Person Sits Heart and Soul -- Ring Lardner

(Poem #928) Quiescent, a Person Sits Heart and Soul Quiescent a person sits heart and soul Thinking of daytime and Amy Lowell. A couple came walking down the street; Neither of them had ever met. -- Ring Lardner

To quote the inimitable Calvin[1], "I try to make everyone's day a little more
surreal". And the equally inimitable Ring Lardner is surely a fitting weapon
of mass surreality - today's poem has the kind of inspired idiosyncracy that
leaves the reader wondering just how it was pulled off.

Indeed, I find it impossible to say just what it is about this poem that I
like. On the face of it, it is just a couple of random images stuck together
and called a poem. It is not even, as might be expected, a parody of Lowell
(or if it is, I'm missing it). There's just something about the perfect
balance of incongruity and poker-faced pointlessness that appeals to me.

[1] [broken link] http://www.math.fu-berlin.de/~guckes/cartoons/pics/calvin/calvin.surreal.gif

Links:

  Biography:
  http://www.bedfordstmartins.com/litlinks/fiction/lardner.htm

  Bob Blair ran this poem a few months ago:
  http://www.geocities.com/athens/delphi/7086/010306.htm

  Amy Lowell on Minstrels:
    Poem #102, "Generations"
    Poem #644, "Patterns"

-martin