So, let’s talk about Freud. His is hardly the first literature I’d normally turn to in a critical discussion of song, but I find that the anecdote in the second chapter of Beyond the Pleasure Principle offers an interesting perspective. It tells of a child who plays a game, sort of a one-party fetch, where he hurls toys into the corner, waits, then retrieves them with visible satisfaction. Freud interprets this as a mechanism for coping with the frequent absence of the boy’s mother, that the child mollifies himself “by dramatising the same disappearance and return with objects he had at hand” (13).
This conclusion seems contestable to me (and Freud, to be fair, offers an alternate interpretation), but, for the sake of discussion, let’s assume there’s some validity to it. My question, then, is how and to what degree might the performance of music, especially the selections from Goodbye Babylon, be analogous? How, if at all, do we sing religious songs to as a means of alleviation through “dramatizing” our own experiences? What experiences among those who sing might be the stand-in for the missing mother in the scenario Freud describes? It might be interesting, too, to drag Marx into the discussion: is there an “opiate” effect of dramatizing experiences through song?
I don’t have much of a congealed answer to these questions—not yet, at least. I’m looking forward to reading what everyone comes up with.
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I am trying to avoid the religious dangers of finding an analogy in a child who is forced to play fetch with himself to cope with the lack of a mother to a singer who must sing about God because of the absence of God. One might easily allow for this with traditional African American praise songs in their obvious similarity to the Old Testament stories of exile (see specifically Daniel 9:17-19). More “textually” (as we are generally referring to these songs as works of literature), the—if I may say it—intense lyrical repetition in these songs is somewhat reminiscent of the game of fetch. The sing and call-back in the many of the songs (with multiple singers) is a sort of fetch-and-carry-and-return, suggesting a social action, unlike the isolated action of the child in Freud’s instance.
ReplyDeleteIf we are to include within our analysis such songs as those in our album that not only include lyrics, but are instrumental only, we must unpack the profundity of their inclusion in this selection. As I was fooling around on the OED online (and I’m a nerd, so, yes, I really do that), I stumbled on the etymology of “thesis.” Maybe I’m one of the few in the class who didn’t know this, but in the ancient Greek, the thesis was the stressed note in music, or the “down-beat,” and, as it provided the pervading feeling (or reference point or return) in music, it is entirely analogous to our rhetorical thesis today, which must be our common reference point or return in each point/paragraph of our argument. There was, though, a reversal in meaning by later Latin writers, and in Old English prosody (with which we have some contact in this week’s reading) the thesis was regarded as “the unaccented or weak part of a foot in verse.” I am uncertain how it has incurred and retained opposite meanings in rhetoric and in song, but it might be enjoyable to study further.
But to return to the “Goodbye, Babylon” selections, if we are considering the repetition, I would like to relate one analogy of my own:
Honestly (and please don’t hate me), I was reminded of the Cooler scenes in “The Great Escape,” when Steve McQueen bounces a baseball against the wall of his cell to cope with his imprisonment. Eventually, his repetitive action, while keeping him sane, has a profound effect on his guard, who marvels at his fortitude (and is probably himself being driven crazy by the repetition). But, once again, that analogy, while adding a new layer of prisoner-imprisoner relationship, has an isolation attached to it not necessarily appropriate for many (most?) of our “Goodbye, Babylon” songs.
I thought the interpretation was a bit wacky myself, but I’m not too familiar with Freud. I feel like I can’t really say much in refute at this point. I keep wondering, “How do you know?”
ReplyDeleteI think, also, you were right in bringing Marx into the mix. His view of religion as an opiate definitely fits the task of connecting Freud’s theory to religious music. I definitely think there is some validity to the view that this music functions, in part, as a coping mechanism. That seems most clear when considering the focus on the future (as being bright and happy, sometimes golden, sometimes white). Sorry if that statement was obvious, I just thought I’d put it out there early. An overwhelming amount of the music in that collection (and I assume, in the genre) dealt with those kinds of things. The most stark, for me, example being Blind Lemon Jefferson’s “All I want is that pure religion,” which to him, is closely linked to death as he ‘croons,’ “Ride on death, don’t ride on slow.” So something else is definitely happening during that song. The man wants to die; that seems to be the overshadowing focus. Sure he wants to die because heaven awaits him, but somewhere near the end, the reality of his pain becomes more of the focus.
Even so, I’m interested in what else this music is doing for these people. I’m also interested in relating it to contemporary Christian music, which has a lot of similarities and differences. First, though, the functions:
(Note, I’m aware that these categories yield plenty of cross-over; most songs fit into at least two of them:)
Sometimes I see the songs working in a way similar to the ballads that were used as teaching tools, as warnings. I think Mahalia Jackson’s song, “God’s Gonna Separate the Wheat from the Tares,” functions this way, but I’m not sure because I’m too swept up by the sound of her voice to pay attention to the lyrics (or is it her articulation?) So that song might be a case of the lyricist’s purpose getting pushed out by the singer’s interpretation, which seems to be, “listen to me knock this song out of the ball park.” Then, of course, there’s the “Sow Good Seeds,” song, which seems to be best example of instructional music we listened to. That and “Troubled about my soul” works this way too. Maybe “God’s Getting Worried”…?
Also, like ballads, some of these seem to function as retelling of Bible stories, and similar to the ballads, certain details are emphasized to apply to the singer’s situation in purpose of retelling the story. Examples might be “The Ark’s a Movin’” and the one about Daniel. Also, “Lift Him Up, That’s All,” works this way.
ReplyDeleteSimilarly to an instructional purpose, I see the songs might function as what Christians might consider to be “good reminders,” or “putting your mind on good things” music (and others might call brain washing tools)—simple melodies and messages that get stuck in your head. “I woke up this morning with my mind stayed on Jesus,” might be the best example of this. But every time I’ve heard that song (I’ve heard other versions), there definitely seems to be a certain mood-lifting quality to it, which sort of puts it back in the first category of alleviation music.
Some sound exactly like pub songs, with religious lyrics. I’m thinking of “The Memphis Flu,” here, though “Crucifixion” is probably the most amusing example of this. Did the composer name it that so he’d have license to play this rag in a church? On that note, I’m curious to know how much of this music was sung in church, and how much had more of a home on people’s porches. I normally think of musicians like Ray Charles, who bring gospel music structures to the club, but did this ever work the other way around?
I’m sure there are other ‘patterns’ I noticed, but these are the only ones I can think of at the moment. This post is getting long as it is.
Finally, I’m really fascinated at how different this music is to trend of “Worship Music” one might encounter in a church today. I don’t know that much about how the trend started, but I do know that in many churches, the music portion is interpreted as ‘worshipping God,’ so the songs are sung directly to him—sometimes asking him to intervene, sometimes as confessions, sometimes just telling God how ‘awesome’ he is. I’m curious to when the focus shifted from the human experience to whatever we should call the focus (or lack of) in those songs…
When I read Freud's discussion of the toy's disappearance and return and the ensuing gratification that followed from the throwing and retrieving, I couldn't help but think of the departures and arrivals that we discussed in class last week. For instance, the wobbly cuckoo bird establishes the primary action and melody in the first verse of "The Coo Coo Bird," deviates from it a bit in the middle, and returns to the original action at the end, paradoxically ending the song's journey by beginning. Although the same verse that begins the song also ends it, the song has a feeling of closure by the final verse. In one moment, the melody and lyrics let us know that something is starting. In another, the same melody and lyrics let us know that something is ending, producing gratification. Would these departures and arrivals in music constitute "correct" form for Burke? I'm not sure.
ReplyDeleteIn terms of Freud, I am fascinated by his emphasis on pleasure as a means to stability, instead of say, hedonism. I'm unfairly generalizing as I say this, but many of these songs definitely seemed to preach the values that Christians would argue lead to lives of stability (pleasure?). In this way, the songs definitely seem to serve a social function. I resist, however, calling them opiates. The pleasure that can be derived from these songs, at least for me, seems to arise from the passion in which they are performed. There seems to be a tension between the content of the songs, which are largely about biblical texts and individual salvation, and the song's performance and structure, which suggest community (I'm thinking of the many voices in the background repeating key lines and saying "hallelujah.") and, in many cases, are delivered via passionate performances. Is it possible that there are tensions within the songs' content, form, and performance that somehow move us to mediate pleasure and pain as we listen?
Freud's example of the child and the mother seemed very relevant to the idea of religion. The child throwing its toys and retrieving them was how it reenacted the mother's departure with its toys. Religion is constantly reenacting its relationship with its god. People travel to Mecca to reenact Mohamed, Catholic Mass climaxes with a reenactment of Jesus' death and most of the songs were ways of reenacting scenes from the Bible or ways the religion was before. The idea of reenactment in religion is important because the vast majority of the effort of modern religion is focused on the ancient and its place in the present. Reenacting these ancient rites/happenings is a way to try to keep them relevant.
ReplyDeleteWhat initially struck me about the listening for this week was the sense of community I heard in the music. The folk ballads and songs, while they did have a limited sense of cultural community to them, had a sense of being alone to them. They were often sung by a solitary person with an instrument. Many of the Goodbye Babylon songs had several people singing/clapping/shouting/witnessing along with the main performers. They all seemed caught up in the moment and taking pleasure in the music. In many songs (especially the title track) there was almost a mass hysteria happening that could definitely draw parallels to Marx's theory. I was picturing the laying on of hands, speaking in tongues, healing, tent revivalism and all that good stuff. For these people, religion wasn't just the solemn (boring) rite that I was brought up with in the angry old German Lutheran church. It was a frenzied, joyous and, above all, entertaining way to feel closer to the ancient.
PS
ReplyDeleteBen, thanks for your opening line getting Salt n Peppa stuck in my head all weekend!
I’m interested in the beginning portion of the Freud piece where he describes the pleasure-principle as regulating metal processes. He says that any process originates in a state of tension (what he calls ‘pain’) and then determines a path that coincides with the release of this tension. I think this principle can be useful when discussing how these religious songs function. Though the songs themselves vary wildly, content-wise and otherwise, perhaps they all originate from place of tension, whether that tension is the need to voice joy, pain, desire for salvation (from death, sin etc.) or even the need to reaffirm one’s faith or one’s status as a member of a Christian community – or any of the other messages that get voiced in this somewhat disparate collection of songs. Lyrically, to voice these things is to relive the tension that comes with the desire to speak or express or master these desires. But the fact that these lyrics are accompanied by music seems to offer additional confirmation that resonates physically. Each time the melody or chorus is returned to, or repeated, there is a physical, almost muscular, response – a pleasure that has nothing to do with what’s being said – that occurs in the listener or performer. Maybe this physical response – the pleasure of anticipating then experiencing the returning sound – serves to ground expressions of faith in the body and therefore in the immediate, present moment. Something similar occurs in the pieces from the course pack that weren’t set to music, that exist only textually, but that do have a recurring rhythm and sound through stress and rhyme. I’m thinking of #72 of “Mysteries of Faith” on page 65 of course pack II. The poem is asking the reader to reaffirm his/her faith by reconciling various mutually exclusive statements:
ReplyDelete“A God, and yet a man?/A mayde, and yet a mother?/Witt wonders what witt can/Conceave this or the other.//A God, and can he die?/A dead man, can he live? Etc…
The conceits of the claims in the cited text above seem rather unreasonable to me, but the rhyme is working to persuade me otherwise, sort of undermining my reason, providing pleasure that is resonating sonically and physically in my ears each time a sound is repeated and thereby, somehow, affirming what is said or at least allowing what is said to impact me in a powerful immediate way. This also reminds me of Christian preaching. Granted, I’ve a limited experience with it and have only heard it on TV and in movies, but the preachers always seem to express their sermons in repetitious and rhythmic, sort of sing-song, cadences (like the way Dr. King delivered a lot of his speeches.) The same patterns of stress are repeated and work to affirm what is said, make what is said felt, physically, and therefore make it ‘real’ and immediate in a powerful way.
My first focus as I listened to the Goodbye Babylon albums were the song titles. Specifically including "Satisfied," "I'll be Satisfied," "All I Want is that Pure Religion" and "Get Right Church." These titles reflect a specific path at which followers/believers will have to tread in order to be considered faithful. Getting to the question, following a set path alleviates a need for confusion or experimentation. Believers must rely on religion, more specifically a particular God, in order to be successful/content/thankful in their life experiences. Whatever fear they might have about the present or the future, they can lean on God. These song lyrics tell the listener there is only one set path. Rev Gary Davis sings "...got to get right/ and belong to this band/ in order that you can die right...but you have to belong to this band." Along with presenting a means to seek happiness and achieve it, the path to God sits in for experience and control. Meaning, on the path to God/religion followers believe they have some type of control over their lives simply because they have given up the illusion of control. Believers can have faith because they understand or strive to understand they never really had control. God holds all knowledge, or this is the means to keep faith alive. Because if God holds the power, than there is no need to worry about the future. The believer needs only to focus on his ability to be available for God's love.
ReplyDeleteFreud's interpretation of a toddler's game of control, or loss of control, over his mother's constant departures is similar to conformed religion in the sense that it is "choice" that can bring, almost certainly, pleasure. The toddler has resigned himself to the fact that his mother will most certainly leave. Although the toddler does not have a choice in the matter, he has gained a sense of control because he will not waste his time trying to keep her from leaving. Instead he revels in a game, that although reflects his loss, also embraces it. He plays with an object that will leave him and does not invest in his ability to maintain it, but more realistically, how better he can detach from it. Followers of God must (although they may not use this particular phrase) resign themselves to the fact that they do not have control over their own lives. I am putting it in terms of someone who has given up, which, in a sense, a follower must give up the idea of control. The pleasure arises from an accepted "truth" and loss of control. The stress of believing one human being can control his own life, let alone the lives of others, is a weight that can be too heavy to bare. But a concept/belief that allows a person (whether it be a game or a God) to rid that weight, to unshackle himself from the responsibility of his own future, (thus relying on fate/faith)...wouldn't that bring pleasure? It's the jy of knowing you don't know. You don't have control. You may never have had control.
Hmm. I agree, to an extent, with the idea that reenacting or dramatizing a traumatic/painful experience provides a method of coping; it is a way of taking control of a situation you can't control and, perhaps, don't understand-- and of that, I see traces in religious songs. Maybe parallels could be drawn with de Certeau's argument about place v. space: place, a thing that "is," though it may be ordered (so the experience, pain, confoundment, etc.), and space, the personalization, practice, &/or control of that place, enacting the place on one's own terms (song). So here, I suppose the mother's leaving could be general existential angst, feelings of abandonment/silence/non-existence of/by God, or perhaps particular painful experiences.
ReplyDeleteThe strange thing is that so many of these songs don't seem to offer any solutions except, "we don't know, it's not for us [to]." ... in "Mysteries of the Faith" 72, the lyrics present a number of paradoxes in Christian doctrine, ask "What reason reason give?" then answers, "Mans witt sinkes too farr under,/ By reasons power to reach it--/ Beleeve, and leave to wonder."
If the lyrics aren't advocating a willing and permanent suspension of disbelief (aka "faith,") they're doling out life lessons to keep everyone in line. "The Bible's Right" (what a title!) reminds us that we can't get to heaven drinking gin, with another man's wife, etc. "The Fall. The Promise of Redemption" 2 informs us that the damnation of mankind deserves a rousing "Deo gracias!" because otherwise "never our Lady a ben hevene qwen." Also, as Nora pointed out, many of the songs are focused on the hereafter; with these two themes, I think the opiate effect is in play; there seems to be less of an interrogation or exploration happening and more of a placating.
Of course this doesn't hold true for all of the songs. Far and away, "No More, My Lord," is my favorite, esp. when the mic (?) drops. The
No more, my Lord,
No more, my Lord,
Lord, I'll never turn back no more.
I found in Him a resting place,
And He have made me glad.
Jesus, the Man I am looking for,
Can you tell me where He's gone?
Go down, go down, among flower yard,
And perhaps you may find Him there.
Maybe it's Blind Lemon Jefferson's voice in lieu of a quartet, but this song seems like a dramatization of the pain to cope, even as promises are being made and questions are going unanswered. Maybe it's the present stages of grief: the bargaining ("Lord I'll never turn back no more"), the depression (mournful tone, sound of pounding (nails? something doleful.) And the song ends with a question, instead of a rhyming axiom.
I agree that the singing of spiritual songs is a way to alleviate pain-- maybe almost in a mantra-like fashion. Keep repeating to keep believing.
I think I might supply my response here (in laundry list format to help keep me from ranging) before I read prior comments...I need to get to this dance earlier.
ReplyDeleteHow might the performance of music...be analogous?
What comes to my mind are a few Christian motifs that I have seen in various iterations, foremost that of exile--not only removal from a physical locale ("promised land"..."zion"), but also the denegration of the natural state of man away from the presence of God.
I also think of the injunction of the talents--using your god-alotted gift to sound out praise, coupled with the countless calls to music sounded through Psalms and Songs of Solomon, etc.
So, not only might there be the angle of psychoanalysis that may or may not be worthy of pursuit, but it seems compounded by preexisting religious tenets to create (and I hate using this metaphor) the perfect storm. *cringe*
What I keep coming back to is the invocation of community I hear in so many of these songs. Say what I will about the content, I believe in the salient effect of communal eros created by song, and although I can't really look at the impetus (sort of hard to analyze a brain synapse) I think it is worthwhile to look at what is produced on the other end.
I got away from the laundry list format. Damn thing won't let me cut and paste in here. What gives?
Can't sleep, and kept thinking about the connections with the de Certeau reading, and I like the idea of the narrative preceding the event. By my fatigue-adled mind, many of the babylon tracks venture toward the territory of the unknown (death, ressurection?, the existence of god/angels/etc), and the song serves as groundwork for whatever really is out there, unattainable as it might currently be.
ReplyDeleteNeed sleep but caint.