My son has a toy that, when you press the big orange
button, sings a jolly song about counting to ten. The toy is apparently
targeted at his age group despite the fact that he can't as yet talk,
differentiate the air con remote from the telephone handset, or even wipe his
own nose. Notwithstanding any of that, the little ditty ends, "It's fun
counting with a friend!"
No, it's not. Count von Count has completely failed to
convince generations of children that counting by yourself is fun. Social
enumeration is only practised by people who are on the cusp of institutionalization
or being employed by the Australian Bureau of Statistics, which more or less
amounts to the same thing. Singing it in a voice that's enthusiastic bordering
on hysterical doesn't make it true
My bank manager is similarly cynical. I told him that I
had both rhythm and music but he insisted that he could, indeed, ask for
something more in the form of a mortgage payment. I mentioned that I also had
my man and his only response was to observe that my wife was probably
unpleasantly surprised after all these years.
In the special case of country music, the disconnect
between lyrics and reality is probably a blessing. Given how cheerless most
country music songs are, making them real would raise the suicide rate in our
rural areas from its already tragically high levels to depopulation material.
Our children are being set up for significant
disappointment by this same problem: singin' it don't make it so. Weasels don't
go "pop" (unless you microwave them) and birds baked in pies tend not
to sing afterwards. Many tragic boyhood experiments could and should have been
avoided. It's only a blessing that we haven't added a verse to the popular song
to the effect that the cat in the dryer goes round-and-round.
Australians are well aware of this problem. I have walked
past endless surfwear stores and have never yet heard a ghost. It also appears,
following recent changes to government policy, that we do not have boundless
plains to share for those who've come across the sea. What we do have to share is
a set of leaking canvas tents but on someone else's land - a long way away from
us. The land is, however, girt by sea so at least that bit's right.*
People looking over the river Jordan waiting to be
carried home are not going to get a band of angels, unless the Israeli army has
a battalion with that nickname. Visitors to the Serengeti, out for an evening
stroll, will probably find out the hard way about the lion's sleeping patterns
and, despite my best John Travolta walking style, and the inconvenience of
carrying a tin of paint everywhere I go, the charity collectors still think I
have time to talk .
And anyone that's ever tried to make a living from music
will tell you that Dire Straits didn't have a clue; it's certainly not money
for nothing.
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*Notes for non-Australians: You need to know two pieces
of music to understand that paragraph. The first is “Waltzing Matilda”, a folk
song that functions as an informal national anthem. It tells the story of a
sheep thief who, rather than being captured, throws himself into a billabong (a
kind of water hole) and drowns. The last verse tells the listener that “his
ghost may be heard as you pass by that billabong”. Listen here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=scciOUrRwIk.
The second piece is the real Australian national anthem
“Advance Australia Fair”. Bloody awful piece of music – like most national
anthems. Listen here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3CuMR6M8yIA
“Girt” means “surrounded”
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