SUMMER DREAMS RIPPED AT THE SEAMS

‘Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent.’  Victor Hugo.

I was having a particularly low moment the other day when I unexpectedly heard a song by U2. My spirits lifted and my heart was instantly warmed. I felt as if I had bumped into an old friend I hadn’t seen in a while who laughed with me about old times. I could write an entire story on the profound effect U2's music has had on me, but put simply, their songs have provided the soundtrack to my life. They have carried me through the best, and worst of times.

I bet if I asked you what your favourite song or piece of music is you’d have an immediate answer, and it would conjure a good feeling or special memory for you. It's interesting how music seems to have this very powerful effect on our psyche, sometimes when we may not even be aware. They say music can have a subliminal effect on our consumer behaviour, influencing what we eat, what we buy and even how long we spend in a supermarket. Music can also elicit mood responses, like boosting your energy and self-esteem. I reckon this could be true because when I listen to Nicki Minaj I’m sure I run a hell of a lot faster than if I listen to classical when I’m hitting the pavement. Alternatively, if I listen to Nicki when I’m trying to go to sleep I’ll be restless for hours, my legs twitching like a dog dreaming about chasing cats. 

At my son’s school, they play catchy pop tunes in the morning to call order to the playground chaos and summon the children into their class lines for morning assembly. It seems to work, albeit in a Pavlovian type of way. If you play it, they come. I have taken a cue from school and I am now playing classical music at home when I want my children to calm down, form an orderly line and make their way to the dinner table. It has yet to be proven effective. Once I played Adagio in G Minor and it made me want to weep uncontrollably and smile ruefully at the same time. Interestingly, this is the same effect my children have on me at dinnertime anyway, so perhaps I didn’t need the music after all?

Sometimes an old song miraculously transports me right back to that point in time when I first heard it. When Summer Nights came on the radio in the car the other day, it took me back to being a kid in the summertime, sprawled on the lounge room floor in a wet swimming costume listening to the Grease soundtrack. I was only four or five when Grease first came out, but my sister had the album, therefore, I had the album. Being the youngest of four siblings is often a cross to bear, but it did have the advantage of having access to lots of big-kid stuff when I was a little kid. My prerogative: what was mine was mine, but what was theirs was mine too. 

I remember sneaking that old record out of the cover and gently balancing it between my little fingers, fearing I would scrape it and render it useless forever. I’m sure this story will provide an amusing anecdote for my Generation Z children who will wonder why I just like, couldn’t like, download another, like… copy?

If you're old enough, you'll remember the anticipation as a record spun around a couple of times before the needle found the music.

Hearing Summer Nights again made me deeply aware of how much I miss those endless summer days, unburdened by all the fears that now keep me awake at night. Days spent almost entirely in the backyard pool, my nose permanently pink and my chest feeling heavy from breathing in toxic chlorine fumes all day. Summer Lovin’. Freedom and happiness. 

Yet I was singing and bopping along in the car that day until I heard myself sing the line I have sung a thousand times before:

‘Tell me more, tell me more. Did she put up a fight?’ 

I doubt my little girl self had any idea of the meaning of those words when I first heard them on my lounge room floor. Of course, as I got older I gradually became aware of the brazen sexual references of the Grease music, but I was ignorant of this one. I suppose when I sing along to popular songs played and played and played on the radio it’s like driving home on autopilot when you don’t remember the journey. You sing but don’t really hear. This song spent seven weeks at number 1 on the U.K. charts according to SongFacts.com. It seemed just so lighthearted, didn’t it? Well-a, well-a, well-a, uh! Nope. It’s a clear reference to rape. 

So, one of the things that I have been thinking about recently as I lay awake on restless nights (not listening to Nicki Minaj by the way) is that if music is so influential that it can make me feel happy when I feel sad, or make me run faster, or shop longer, or make people cry or even make children behave…what about the dark side of popular music? Are we still living in a culture that is so complacent with sexual violence that the words ‘did she put up a fight’ are included in one of the most popular soundtracks of all time?  

If you google ‘songs about rape’ you may be as surprised as I was that it is not the exclusive domain of the gangsta rapper, and may appear where you least expect it. Take Baby It’s Cold Outside for example, which you have probably heard two million times as I have. Until recently I had never really considered the lyrics of this song. It was written as a little ditty by a married couple back in the 40s and they would sing it together at parties, bantering back and forth. I read the lyrics as a little experiment without hearing the song in my head, rather like a poem. Not only does she say she wants to go home, she says it repeatedly. He seems to think this is just a challenge and takes it upon himself to convince her to change her mind, unconcerned about her reputation because they both know his will remain intact if she stays. Oh yeah, there is also the suggestion that he has spiked her drink. Yep, seems that this was a thing back in the 40s too. The discussion around this song has drawn its share of vitriol on the internet, and I hesitate when stepping into murky waters polluted by trolls, but I reckon anything that gets us talking about consent is a good thing.

It is impossible to dodge all the sexually charged grenades pop music throws out. I would appreciate a ‘sex warning’ as well as a ‘language warning’ on the radio before some songs. Something like, ‘The following is likely to offend anyone who only enjoys consensual sex or is currently in the company of their parents or children’. My son, who is only six and for whom I have done my utmost to protect from mainstream media, threw himself off a flying fox recently at a crowded park and to my horror, shouted at the top of his voice ‘Sexy Lady!!!’  I truly hope the other people recognised the line from Gangnam Style and did not judge me. What well-intentioned parent could possibly protect their child from the delights of that song, even five years on? And what does Lady Gaga really mean when she sings ‘Baby when it’s love if it’s not rough it isn’t fun’ in Poker Face. Maybe she was being satirical. Perhaps the line shouldn’t be taken out of the context of the song. But God help me if my daughter becomes a tween fan and yells that one out at the park. I doubt she’ll understand the irony when she’s twelve.

I am just so goddamned fed up with a culture that has allowed me to sing about rape since I was a little girl, and never even notice. Ignorance is not bliss. Let’s not be ignorant together. I’m not singing along anymore. How about you?

Tell me more, tell me more…will you put up a fight?

What would Jane say?

‘But to live in ignorance on such a point was impossible’.  Pride & Prejudice.

No more, no less.