Burning Hell song analyses #2: Nostalgia and Kings of the Animal Kingdom
This post will look at two very different
songs, that provide two entirely different ways of presenting significant ideas.
‘Nostalgia’ as its name suggests is a song that offers examples of nostalgic contemplation,
and then presents a brief buy brilliant assessment of what nostalgia is. Not didactic,
exactly, it is nevertheless a kind of clear position piece. ‘Kings of theAnimal Kingdom’ by contrast, despite its much more over final assertion (We are
the kings of the animal kingdom) is actually much more gnomic – somewhere between
a parable and a fragment. I have offered links to the songs, and have annotated
the lyrics – I hope that doesn’t get in the of reading them too much.
Nostalgia
The
compact disc was the wave of the future
I
had my first kiss and I liked it ok
April
and I slow-danced to the Cocktailsoundtrack
‘Kokomo’
is still my favourite song to this day
Remember
when John Stamos played the drums in The Beach Boys?
That’s
the kind of thing that happened back then
Musicians
guested on sit-coms and actors made albums
The
late 80s was a fantastic time to be 10.
And
one night I was watching The Lost Boys
With
a girl who I liked and her friends
And
when the vampires attached the hippies on the beach
She
said she had a crush on Kiefer Sutherland
So
for a while I wanted to be a vampire
A
vampire like Kiefer, not like the guy who played Max
But
my favourite scene is Tim Capello at the boardwalk
When
he played that shirtless solo on his golden sax
In
retrospect, it all seems spectacular
And
I’d love to go back, But I broke my flux capacitor
And
I tell ya, it’s just nostalgia
It’s
as vague as a disease, like fibromyalgia
But
instead of unexplained pain, it’s unexplained pleasure
Its
buried deep in your brain like pirate treasure
And
I know there’s lots that I’m forgetting
But
I choose to remember the music and the heavy-petting
I
think there was some heartbreak, and some humiliation
Which
I guess is just part of a well-rounded education
God
knows it wasn’t it wasn’t all rainbows and puppy dogs back then
‘round
the time the 80s waited for the 90s to begin
But
what good is an imagination, if you can’t pretend
‘cos
after all, it’ll never be that good again
After
all, it’ll never be that good again
After
all,
It’ll
never be that good again.
I love this song for many reasons,
including the fact that, like many Burning Hell songs, it is prepared to shift
its formal qualities as the emphasis and nuance of the piece shifts. There is
no verse/chorus structure, rather a series of four quatrains rhyming abab,
followed by a couplet that acts as a bridge between the first section of the
song, and its conclusion. If the opening quatrains provide snapshots of
memories located around erotic desire and cultural engagement (and the
combination of the two), the second half is more of a reflection / speculation about how these memories are constructed
through and in the service of a nostalgia that purposefully occludes the
potentially disruptive or damaging (‘humiliation’ is a necessary aspect of a
well-rounded education, for example)./
The humiliation / education rhyme also
marks an important difference between the two halves. The quatrains rely on
simple lexis, an almost off-the-cuff-ness in how the lyrics unfold. The rhythms
are (relatively) simple and the rhymes full and concluding, with the exception
of the ‘friends’ / ‘Sutherland’ dyad whose half-rhyme feeds into the conclusion
of the memory in the next stanza where the conversational drift from wanting to
be a vampire, but like the one guy and not the other, ends with the most
deliciously perfect and, simultaneously unexpected and inevitable rhyme with ‘Max’
/ ‘sax’. The dropping in of proper names of musicians, songs, bands, films
provides concrete, straightforward recollections of the period he’s reminiscing
about.
This changes in the bridge couplet. For a
start, the rhymes occur over two lines not four. And they become much more
adventurous. The explicit mention of movie names is replaced by allusion as Kom
laments the breakage of his flux capacitor (which provides the title of the
album), a reference that requires knowledge of the film Back to the Future which, of course, neatly ties his longing for
the period to the song’s celebration of pop culture from the time.
The reflective part of the song, not
unexpectedly, mentions nostalgia, but in an amazingly precocious use of simile
he likens the ‘vague’ concept with the relatively mysterious disease
fibromyalgia. I’m not sure there have been many more audacious rhymes in pop
music history. Having compared and contrasted the two, he asserts that
nostalgia is about pleasure which is hidden like pirate treasure. The image
allows for a kind of self-pilfering that then leads into the self-justificatory
partial history where he chooses memories like heavy petting, even as he knows
there’s other stuff that he’s forgetting.
The
song ends with a beautifully plaintive lament that is given added pathos by its
setting up through half rhyme (the always not-quite-but-nearly form of rhyme).
Extolling the virtue of creativity and imagination, he insists on a certain kind
of pretence that nostalgia enacts but then justifies this, the joy of the
pretend, because things will never be as good again. Nostalgia is not just
unexplained joy or pleasure; it’s the residual knowledge of a permanent
disbarment from that which was better: it is the memorialisation of lack, and
the song does an amazing job of offering us this insight.
Kings of the animal kingdom
Well Cheryl had a dog named Skip that she
loved to bits
He had big sad eyes and he was gentle
around the kids
He could do tricks that would amaze ya
But he developed hip dysplasia
The veterinarian said it’s surgery or
euthanasia
Cheryl asked how much it would cost to get
Skip sorted
The vet said if you have to ask then you
can’t afford it
She could barely make the rent
She said, “Skip, you know you’re my best
friend.”
She made sure he couldn’t see the needle
at the end
She hummed the bass-line to ‘North Window’
by The Inbreds just to keep from crying
She took the bus down town ‘cos she was
too upset to drive
Well, once upon a time there was a 10 year
old boy named Dave
He liked cars and karate and he hardly
ever mis-behaved
He got it into his little boy head
He didn’t want to eat anything dead
He told his parents, “No meat for me please:
just French fries and bread.”
Well, Dave’s daddy was a dude who didn’t
deal with dissent too good
He said, “While you’re under my roof I
want this clearly understood:
You’ll eat whatever mama is making,
Be it Beef, baby back ribs, or bacon.”
And he slammed his fists down on the table
so hard, it set the silverware shaking.
Well, Dave got sent to his room and he lay
on his bed
And said, “I wonder where my real parents
are.”
And he cried himself to sleep under a
ceiling full of
Glow in the dark
Stars
If there are victory bells, we should ring
them
If there are victory songs, we should sing
them
‘cos we are the kings of the animal
kingdom
we are the kings of the animal kingdom
we are the kings of the animal kingdom
As with ‘Nostalgia’, this song has no
verse / chorus structure, and chooses to establish formal parameters, only to
upset and reject them. Musically, the first two verses are mournful, with minor
key violins adding pathos to the already heart-breaking stories.
The two stories are both themselves
fragments of narrative but nevertheless provide essentially full – if attenuated
– stories. Both are, in different ways, about animals, but there is no
narrative link, and even the animal connection is muted. It’s as if we have two
related but distinct parables, each with a different (quite oblique) moral.
Formally, they are brilliant. Both begin
with five-line stanzas rhymed aabbb but with the rhymes being a mixture of half
and full, and also demonstrating the dizzying felicity we saw in Nostalgia.
Rhyming ‘ya’ / ‘dysplasia’ / ‘’euthanasia’ is a feat worthy of some kind of
commendation, especially as it avoids any semblance of cleverness for its own
sake, and instead sets up the horrible truth of the second stanza, where again
the aabbb structure lends itself to a pathos-ridden half-rhyme tear-fest: ‘rent’
/ ‘friend’ / ‘end’.
But then, as is so often the case, the structure
shifts and we have a two-line section, un-rhymed that has no conclusion – just two
images of grief, two fragments of pain (the reference to the Inbreds’ song may
or may not be because the video references a vet – I leave such speculation for
future scholars…)
The next verse shifts stories to Dave. His
rhymes are simple and full ‘head’ / ‘dead’ / ‘bread’. His deliriously
alliterative dad has more complex and incomplete rhymes, but in the way of
these things, can still silence his poor, would-be vegetarian son ‘making’ /
bacon’ / ‘shaking’.
Dave’s tear-laden hope that he is adopted
seems to suggest (as written) a full rhyme ‘are’ / ‘starts’ but as played, the
vocal delays, the music changes both key and time signature and the effect is disarming
and foreboding, and leads into the song’s conclusion, the curiously upbeat
declaration of Humanity’s ascendancy over the animals and the need to celrbate
this.
It is a weird, troubling, saddening and
worrying piece. Formally complex and allusive; hinting not saying. Together
these songs provide a real sense of just what song-writers can do when they
move beyond tired clichés and love songs.
The next Burning Hell post will be of a
love song.
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