Songs I Hate… and Love [#1]: Jimmy Soul- If You Wanna Be Happy (1963)

Perhaps most famous to my generation as the background music to a very NSFW shock site which I won’t bother linking; this classic 60s doo-wop hit leaves me feeling conflicted to say the least.

Download It Here

On the one hand it is an unambiguously, shamelessly, unironically sexist song. The fact that we can play song like this on the radio, which objectifies and patronises women in a chuckling, devil may care way, really hammers home how far we’ve got to go when it comes to gender equality. Add to this the 1960s context of racial inequality and we're in a shit storm of inconsistency. A song as hideously offensive and dehumanizing to People of Colour, sung by white Americans would long since have been confined to the wheelie bin of cultural history. It may seem like I’m exaggerating, but really, I think the light-hearted jokiness of the lyrics is what makes them so fucking sinister. Here they are:

If you wanna be happy
For the rest of your life,
Never make a pretty woman your wife,
So from my personal point of view,
Get an ugly girl to marry you.

A pretty woman makes her husband look small
And very often causes his downfall.
As soon as he marries her
Then she starts to do
The things that will break his heart.
But if you make an ugly woman your wife,
You'll be happy for the rest of your life,
An ugly woman cooks her meals on time,
She'll always give you peace of mind.

Don't let your friends say
You have no taste,
Go ahead and marry anyway,
Though her face is ugly,
Her eyes don't match,
Take it from me she's a better catch.

Say man.
Hey baby.
Saw your wife the other day.
Yeah?
Yeah, she's ugly.
Yeah, she's ugly but she sure can cook.
Yeah? Okay.

It’s ‘tongue in cheek’ in a ‘get back in the kitchen’ kind of a way, which might be funny were it not for the fact that women (and men) were, and still are, expected to perform in certain ways purely because of their gender. Sadly, I can’t separate this song out from the wider context of Patriarchy. Domestic violence, rape, honour killing, pay inequality, this song. They are all rooted in the same oppressive logic which confines us to binary gender roles, and shapes the way we ascribe value to other human beings. Frankly it makes me sick.

On the other hand, this song is absolutely, unquestionably fucking brilliant. The rhythm, the melody, the slightly ramshackle way it’s recorded, the voices, the spirit of camaraderie between the people singing, the instrumentation; it’s an absolute barnstormer. It also has very nice nostalgic value, as illustrated from this scene in that childhood favourite of many people of my age Mermaids (note, young Winona Ryder and even younger Christina Ricci rocking out):



I guess there’s a degree of irony in these three pretty women/soon-to-be-women having a good time to this song sans male presence, but the image of Mrs Flax. (Cher) and her kids boogying to it whilst preparing the kitchen for the return of their new found patriarch is kind of a weird one. An optimist might say it frames Jimmy and co as pathetic characters, ultimately powerless over the women they seek to objectify. But I’ve never been one for the whole beauty as empowerment, lipstick feminism shtick. Ultimately it’s a selfish, short term, local mitigation of a long-term, universal problem. Still, you can’t deny the infectiousness of the song, it’s difficult to watch that video and not dance along.

Jimmy died of a heart attack aged 45. He had never emulated the success of this single, which sold over a million copies, and his failure to have any further success in the charts meant that he ended up spending much of his post-pop star life in the US army. In truth the song wasn’t even his own, it was a cover of a 1930s calypso number by Roaring Lion. I don’t know if he made a pretty woman his wife, or if he was happy for the rest of his life. But I’d like to think that in at some point in some night club in 1960s Harlem, Angela Davis and bell hooks were both getting down to this song; quietly smirking at how stupid men can be.

Bank! Dentist! Work!

I just remembered I have a blog. But sadly, I also have an appointment at the Bank in 20 minutes. And soon I have to go to the dentist and he's going to drill my teeth. And I paid him in advance for the privilege. And I have lots of work to do. Uni work and work work. I am constantly bewildered by the world, and only sometimes in a bad way.

I can't help myself

I have a new comic. Similar in theme to the last one. Awkwardness, loneliness, that sort of schtick. It costs £1ppd (which is not much). I'll write you a letter too if you order it.
Email me nathanisacynic AT gmail DOT com if you want one.

MA Thesis

As part of my MA dissertation I have been keeping a research diary comic. For anyone interested in its academic justification, it's an experiement in reflexivity, informed by Freirean Critical Pedagogy, and was created in the spirit of recent pioneering work towards developing a 'Queer' methodology. Here are some sections from it. (Don't steal my shit, bell-ends).










(NB: This last comic created some confusion as to my epistemological/ontological stance. For the record, I am by no means a fan of Alan Sokal; this last comic makes more sense when read in the context of my MA thesis, i.e. juxtaposed with exactly the sort of 'fashionable nonsense' Sokal sought to criticize. I don't see my willingness to make concessions to a well executed positivist prank, as signifying a weakness in poststructural/queer theory. I just think he had a point about the dangers of theorists getting lost in abstraction and losing sight of the tangible battles that need fighting, alongside the ethereal ones we tend to be most comfortable with).

Epiphany Term

I recently completed my first ever comic.



It's called 'Epiphany Term' and it's 8 pages long.

You can purchase a copy from Travelling Man in Newcastle, Discount Horse Records in Durham or by emailing me: williamgpilgrim AT gmail DOT com. They cost 50p in person or £1 postage paid.

I'm not telling you anything about it.

There's dignity in mystery.

Machiavelli & Me.

Here is a piece I wrote for a fanzine called ALASICANNOTSWIM.

***

Machiavelli & Me.

There is no necessary or predictable relationship between what happens to us and what we deserve.

Sitting here in this dingy, damp, cellar; a blunt pencil and few scraps of paper are the only things staving off complete insanity. My captor, a lanky 15 year old with a flick knife and an unfathomably disproportionate grudge, switched off the light before he locked me in here. Thankfully, there is enough moonlight seeping through the ventilation cover to allow me to commit my story to paper.

It was a Friday morning much like any other. I dragged myself out of bed, showered and made my way across town to my first lecture. I was all but sleepwalking, until a guy nearly got hit by a bus about 3 feet ahead of me. That woke me up a little; seeing someone come within inches of their death tends to do that. I made sure that he was OK. He seemed shaken up but appreciative.

I arrived at my lecture to find that it had been postponed until 2 O’clock that afternoon. This was most annoying as I had nothing to do for the next four hours. I reversed 180 degrees and set off to walk home; I needed to make the best possible use of my time, so I thought I’d go home and work on a philosophy essay.

I got back to my flat and switched on my laptop. My housemates weren’t in, but my essay was already a week late so the fewer distractions the better. I’d decided that to make up for the lateness of the submission, I’d spice it up a bit, with an elaborate analogy. Machiavelli & Human Psychology understood through the nuclear family.

Here is a segment of the essay:

In this paragraph we will consider an analogy in order to elucidate our understanding of Machiavelli’s theory of Human Psychology.

Jane’s parents are flying to Florence for a short break; they tell her that she is in charge for the weekend. She has the unenviable task of forcing her mischievous twin brothers to behave. Jane is 18, her brothers are 15.

How can she get them to behave? Unlike her parents she does not have the protection of tradition or custom? She is playing the power-game under the most naked and unfavourable conditions. Therefore she must be ruthless. She decides that fear is that best means with which to rule. After bidding farewell to her parents, she informs her brothers that she has acquired an x-rated magazine from the local corner shop.

“If you take one step out of line”, she tells them calmly, “I will hand this to mum and dad and tell them I caught you reading it together!”

The boys are horrified. They each react differently. One screams at her, tells her that it is unfair. He is deeply distressed by the situation he finds himself in. She banishes him to his bedroom for the night.

The other, more astute brother immediately becomes sycophantic, promising to be on his best behaviour. She rewards him by letting him play on his Xbox and they share a tub of ice cream.

This analogy highlights the four emotions identified by Machiavelli as being central to humanity. Machiavelli identifies the ease with which feelings of hate, love, fear and contempt can be activated as the reason humans are easy to control. The first brother feels fear, hatred and contempt; he is harder to control and will eventually become uncontrollable. The second brother feels fear and love; the ideal combination of emotions with which one can rule according to Machiavelli. In the following section we will discuss Machiavelli’s view on the relationship between morality and politics…

What with working for a few hours, it was almost time to go to my rescheduled lecture. My housemate returned, he’d decided to come home and watch a DVD. We chatted for a while and I left.

Knowing that time was not on my side I decided to take a shortcut, past the old swimming baths. The path was narrow and secluded, but it took 10 minutes off the journey. As I progressed up the hill, I noticed a tall figure making their way towards me from up ahead. As I got nearer I could make out more of the character, but still not enough.

“It’s you” he said, accusingly.

“Er, yes. It is me…” I laughed nervously and tried to brush aside his assertion, but deep down I could tell that this guy was pretty angry.

“You’re the one who wrote the story. You’re the bastard who ruined my weekend”. He could have only been about 15.

“Which story do you mean?”

“The story. The bloody story with the porno-mag! Who do you think you are trying to embarrass me like that? You didn’t even give me a name! You left me in that bedroom to rot, now I’m going to do the same to you”

I didn’t know what was happening but I knew I wanted to leave. I tried to push my way past him and muttered “leave me alone”. It was dawning on me who this person was and I didn’t like it.

“Oh, no you don’t mate” He said, and brandished a small but intimidating knife that he had been concealing up his sleeve. I made a run for it, but didn’t get far before feeling a blunt thump on the back of my head and blacking out.

When I awoke I was in this cellar and he was standing there in front of me. I pleaded my innocence. He was unrelenting in his anger.

“What? So you think you can just go around writing stories without fully fleshing out the characters.” I tried to explain to him that it was just a little metaphor in a silly formative essay. He told me that it didn’t matter, I needed to learn. He was teaching me a lesson.

“You can’t put people through that sort of thing if you aren’t even going to put a few posters on their bedroom walls. You failed to include the smallest amount of character development before putting my brother and I through that embarrassing ordeal. You didn’t even give us names, for Christ’s sake.”

He switched the light off and it was a few minutes before my eyes adjusted to the darkness. It must have been late. I could see Gilesgate roundabout through a small hole in the ventilation cover, and there were barely any cars on it.

I had the eerie sense that he was still silently standing outside the door, so I pleaded with him and told him I was sorry, but he did didn’t reply. I knew that he was giving me time to think about things. I had no time for thoughts, only feelings.

Hatred. Fear. Contempt.

In the end I will be rescued by Joseph David Webster. Born in Rotherham on the 26^th of February 1984, Joseph considers mountain biking and non-mainstream indie-rock to be his two primary interests. He rarely wears the colour red as he thinks it makes him look pale. He has short brown hair and has a birthmark resembling a bird on his right thigh. Earlier today he was almost hit by a bus.

“There is no necessary or predictable relationship between what happens to us and what we deserve”.

NORTH ROAD TESCO TO DOUBLE AS HELLMOUTH

Another satirical piece. Sadly, since the time of writing another, larger Tesco has opened in the centre of Durham.

***

NORTH ROAD TESCO TO DOUBLE AS HELLMOUTH
William G Pilgrim

Durham's demon and ghoul population are said to be delighted by the news that the newly-opened Tesco Express on North Road is one of many stores internationally that will provide a direct portal to hell.

Financial analysts were stunned to learn that Tesco stores have always contained hellmouths, but the plc firm has only recently won the license to commercially profit from these dimensional gateways. The development explains the impending sense of doom which has been experienced by many Tesco shoppers since it was initially founded in 1919.

Tesco Chief Executive Sir Terry Leahy issued a statement, "We are unstoppable and there is nothing you can do to escape it! Soon we will control everyone you love and cherish. Mwahahahahahaha!" However, he later retracted his comments based on legal advice.

As well as providing a direct link to hell, the Hellmouths will also allow users to travel internationally to other Tesco stores. 'Tesco Express' stores nationwide are also said to be expanding their range of affordable pentagrams and goats' heads in conjunction with the announcement.

A new advertising campaign is also likely to accompany the grand opening, which will replace the popular slogan 'Tesco: every little helps' with 'Tesco: from beneath us it devours."

Local 'Hellmouth' owner Ian McApocalypse is worried by the severe threat this poses to his small business. He has been managing Durham's last surviving locally owned Hellmouth, which is located in the SCR of St. John's College, for over 15 years.

"This just isn't right. I'm forced to pay exactly the same damnation tariffs as Tesco, and they are a multi-billion pound international conglomerate. It's just not cricket!"

Rumours that Tesco plc is also seeking a strip club license remain unconfirmed.