Music is a human history, and recording of past tragedy and success, a personal philosophy and a record in more ways than one. It is a diverse and democratic medium. Changing, not only with the outer ‘current’ but the rhythms deep within itself – moulding a literature vibrant with imagery. I am a passionate, not only listener, but participant in what some people may stereotype as ‘dated’ music, yet the ‘date’ being part of the interest, an amazingly accessible opportunity to access another decade in my very own way. I am intending to explore some select lyrics and their distinct illumination of a rich British history, not just facts and figures but the social values and themes which remain interlocked within our recognition today. I think music is not only a dyadic listening experience, but an opportunity to listen to the self and our own values. A speech for society synchronised to sound.

The growth of popular music of an increasingly political charge is especially attributable to 1950’s, and evidently, 1960’s Britain. There is excessive debate in terms of whether 1960’s Britain witnessed a ‘social revolution’ – a time of the growth of fast cars, fast lives and music equally fast in wit. Yet also the pondering of a slower, somewhat more sinister contemplation of an increasingly ‘liberal’ and even ‘permissive’ society about a concentrated London core was underway. In many instances, the British public appeared the very row of witnesses themselves, to instances of moral concern, for example ‘The Troubles’ in Ireland and the involvement of America in The Vietnam War which led to extensive loss of the lives of innocent Vietnamese civilians. Following the Cold War closely after World War Two, international tensions between communism in the East and the capitalist West fissured social stability, international aggravation over issues such as immigration accentuated by the infamous ‘Rivers of Blood’ speech by Enoch Powell in 1968. The rise of such controversial figures was documented by (quite controversial figures themselves!) the Rolling Stones, in their semi-satirical, politically-fuelled song ‘Sympathy for the Devil’. Lyrics leaching out a personification of the devil, highly tensional following the publication of ‘Honest to God’ by philosopher John Robinson, which proposed the development of what is now known as ‘situation ethics’ and questioned the moral absolutism of Christian doctrine. Some conservative religious believers criticized ‘Honest to God’ in terms of what they believed to be the attempted justification of a new approach to God and undermining traditional values, somewhat ironic, if considering the song, of a population who ‘fought for ten decades/ for the God’s they made’.

Sympathy for the Devil’ ultimately spits an expression of grief to a society which is its own fiend and yet ignorant of it. This is emphasized through the jeering ‘What’s my name/ I tell you one time/ you’re to blame’ – the intended irony through the minimalist musical background and imperative lyrics, pleading in the need for society to listen to the words, not the sugared accompaniment. The ignorance of humanity is a painful but popular theme for crafted song lyrics – the ironic intention to challenge us with ‘why?’. For example ‘The Smiths’’ ‘Nature is a language/can’t you read?’ in their song ‘Ask’ implies a growing social ignorance to our native arts, culture and environment.

Lyrics seemingly morph to a mouthpiece of society, The Rolling stones with their infamous ‘tongue’ logo seemingly ‘twist’ such to a graphic portrayal – telling of ‘When the Blitzkrieg raged/ and the bodies stank’ in ‘Sympathy for the Devil’. The harsh verb use suggests the moral chaos of past conflict was still the case within the so-called ‘social revolution’, a bitterly inconsistent state of affairs in which ‘every cop is a criminal’- Jagger ultimately expressing student spite at the police put-downs of revolutionary-style activity in the LSE.  The song literally screams at the political establishment in their ignorance of the cause and cost of the affluent society, the generic ‘man of wealth and taste’ strung up with a historical thread. This is followed by ‘Killed the Tsar and his Ministers’ an evident reference to the fate of the Romanov Dynasty following the 1917 revolution in Russia – an evocation that the documentation of social discontent in popular music can be especially striking in illustrating political thought.  (more…)

A Hall of Mirrors – An exploration of writing and the creative mind.

Emily Oldfield.

‘The mind is its own place, and in itself Can make a heaven of Hell, a hell of Heaven.’

– John Milton, Paradise Lost.

In Sylvia Plath’s piece ‘Morning Song’ through the line ‘love set you going like a fat gold watch’ the directional element is evidently downwards, away from the surface of mind and into the rich depths of time and feeling. I am reluctant to call such writing ‘poems’, but rather, a ‘piece’ – an element of the mind of proportion that cannot necessarily be fathomed.  On the other hand, in Arthur Miller’s play ‘Death of a salesman’ The protagonist Willy Loman is crippled by the ‘tragic flaw’ of not knowing the self, his language stiff and limited to idioms in an ‘upwards’ view towards a capitalist society. Both writers I believe imply language as a means of expression in a tight position.  Writing itself forms a commitment, a connection to the voice created in that through means at own fingertips and exploring new self-geography– ‘a revelation of the self to the self’ according to Seamus Heaney. Is this what Shakespeare manipulates Hamlet into considering ‘Within the book and volume’ of his brain? Indeed, it appears language that holds place in the mind, and in turn, mind in language.

The mind’s seeming ability to cultivate language is a concept that has always fascinated me – the attempt to attribute a neurological sensation to which identity is subjective to the lines and compress of words. As poet Seamus Heaney remarked ‘the feel of things in their names’ – a combination of words to map to a feeling. Consider the release as hand forces words from the pen, typed print to the page. It is almost cruel – it is definitely beautiful. Writing flurries and extinguishes – the movement the hands, the mind, in time – all in unity, establishing  relationships with the individual and reality. Sometimes I feel that this is a unity I cannot achieve anywhere else. I am confessing myself and becoming the poet that is not a person. This is the power of words, as Aristotle implies in his ‘Poetics’, a ‘Unity’ essential to ‘tragedy’ – but should this worry me? No, I do not believe so. The creative effort of the mind and body’s resources to bring meaning of experience into form could be considered according to the psychoanalytical theories of Freud and Jung as cultivating the material between unconscious and conscious. Showing who really is, and who was.

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