How a Song Evolves

Charles I in 3 Positions by Van Dyck, c.1635

The anniversary of the execution of Charles I on January 30th, 1649, has just passed. The mention of that year immediately makes me think of Billy Bragg's version of the song The World Turned Upside Down from 1985, which begins


"In 1649, to St. George's Hill - a ragged band they called The Diggers came to show the people's will . . ."


If you don't know it, or to have the pleasure of refreshing your memory, you can listen to that song here:

Billy states on his Facebook page (1 Dec 2013) that he first heard the song played by the folk singer Roy Bailey at Sheffield City Hall during the Miners' Strike.


As I researched a little in to the history of the song, it struck me that it stands as a very good example of how a song evolves - its origin is known & the steps of its evolution easily traced. It was written by Leon Rosselson & released in 1975. Leon & Roy Bailey were musical partners at the time:

 

 

 

Then there is the absolutely beautiful version by the folk singer Dick Gaughan, released in 1981:

 

 

 

 

 

Now you can see what Billy Bragg did to the song. He simplified the chords of the guitar accompaniment to the most basic necessary - to what the chords are fundamentally - & speeded it up to make it more aggressive & more rousing. This version therefore stands as a testament to the virtues - sometimes - of simplicity. Observe that Billy's version makes it most obvious that the song has no chorus and no middle 8. It consists of the verse again & again, & nothing else. This makes the song insistent, & also free of unnecessary elements or distracting clutter.

 

 

Another thing this song demonstrates is the power of words & music together as a mnemonic. If you know the song, it is very easy to remember where - at St. George's Hill - & when - in 1649 - that The Diggers tried to set up their commune. You have learned this in a very permanent way almost without effort because of taking pleasure in the song.

 

Ewan MacColl

 

Martin Carthy

 

I am not personally in full agreement with the politics of this song. For instance I do not believe in common ownership to the extent The Diggers did, even as an ideal or aspiration. The song shows very fully the kind of radical left politics one associates with folk musicians of Leon Rosselson's generation; think of Ewan MacColl or Martin Carthy. However, although I know I don't entirely agree with the song, I still find it rousing.  I love the lines

 

 

"We will not worship the God they serve - the God of greed who feeds the rich while poor men starve"

 

 

Isn't that  an accurate description of the world today ?

 

 

I haven't heard of a name for this phenomenon, for at the same time assenting to a position in a song or other work of fiction for the sake of enjoyment while also being aware of one's dissent from it. Perhaps we could call it temporary or provisional assent. Perhaps also it is a subset or aspect of suspension of disbelief. Another example of a song which requires this is John Lennon's Imagine. Another is George Harrison's My Sweet Lord ; I find it rousing, & I love singing along with it, but in fact I have no desire at all either to seek or to praise God or Krishna. Think of the audience at Glastonbury singing delightedly along with Tom Jones belting out Delilah :

 

 

"She stood there laughing - I felt the knife in my hand & she laughed no more."

 

 

It's high camp, everyone knows it, everyone is in on the joke. Not one of that audience has any intention of committing murder in a fit of jealous rage, nor would they approve of such a thing in real life.

 

To conclude, here is Billy again doing The World Turned Upside Down at Wembley Arena, 13th April 2012:

 

 

 

Doctor Brown's Image of the Future

My father, Dr P.T. Brown, recently told me a very striking image he had had of a possible future for us all. He was extrapolating from the fact that so many of us are communicating less & less face to face, & more & more via screens & icons: via laptops, tablets, mobiles or cells. He speculated that in future, each of us might carry masks like Venetian carnival masks which folded up like fans. We would each carry say seven of these, one depicting happiness, one sadness, one anger, one grief & so on: & whichever emotion we wished to display, we would unfold the relevant mask & put it to our face. I find this possibility convincing, compelling & chilling.

I would like to add an image I thought of for Life itself:

You are walking down a long back street in a Northern town on an unseasonably cold late March afternoon. The street is a terrace of houses on one side & on the other is a railway line. Despite the houses, the street is almost deserted, & there is no sign of life apart from the back of a huddled figure walking far in front of you & in the same direction. An icy east Wind blows pieces of rubbish round & round in small eddies. At the top of the street, the figure in front of you turns the corner & disappears, never to be seen again.

The Count of Monte Cristo

Alexandre Dumas (1802-70). This image was taken by Nadar in 1855.

I've just recently finished The Count of Monte Cristo by Dumas. I thought it was absolutely brilliant & thoroughly recommend it, especially the Penguin Classics edition (ISBN 9780140449266), which is what I read. This is translated by Robin Buss & has the great advantages of being unabridged & unexpurgated. I want to quote a bit of dialogue from near the end of the novel. It doesn't give any of the plot away. It is a conversation between the Count & his friend Morrel. The latter speaks first:


" 'Count, you are an encyclopedia of all human knowledge, & you strike me as someone who has come down from a more advanced & wiser world than our own.'
'There is some truth in that, Morrel,' the Count said with a melancholy smile that transfigured his face. 'I have come from a planet called sorrow.'"


- Ch.117 'October the Fifth', p.1235