The Fredösphere

It is in the cold light of a post-July-Fourth morning that we can shake of the effects of that drunken orgy of patriotic jingoism we so recently indulged in, and reflect soberly on an interesting question:  why do so many nationalistic songs have lyrics that, on close analysis, reveal themselves to be crazy?

(And we don't normally give them close analysis.  Perhaps our fear, or better, our piety prevents us from probing.  Or, most likely of all, these words are too familiar to be understood, just as one cannot focus on an object that is too near the eye.)

Let's start with The Battle Hymn of the Republic.  Unless my interpretation is way off, the song seems to posit the idea that the U.S. Civil War is nothing less than the harbinger of the Apocalypse.  Shiloh, Manassas, Antietam, Chancellorsville, Gettysburg...Armageddon.  Forrest, Jackson, Lee, Davis...Satan.  I'm sure those persons immersed in the events found these progressions compelling and believable, but why do we today still sing "mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord; he is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored"?  God metes his punishments to each nation sooner or later according to his mysterious timetable; just because it happened to be our turn for a lickin' in 1861 doesn't mean the whole world is coming to an end.

Next, consider Jerusalem:



It poses a question:  did Jesus Christ visit England as a youth, and does not that event portend a special destiny, a special burden placed on the shoulders of the English people, one which endows them with a greater dignity and mission?  Short answer:  no.  The British Empire was unusually cool, as empires go, but William Blake was nuts when it came to the whole Joseph-of-Arimathea-Brought-Jesus-To-England thing (as he was nuts about so much else [William that is, not Joseph]).  On the other hand, I'm inclined to give Jerusalem as many bonus points as needed to offset what the lyrics lost, because I think it is about the most mind-blowing tune ever written.  Plus when the second verse kicks in, with it's burning gold and its chariots of fire--wow!  All is forgiven.

The U.S. national anthem also asks a question.  (Isn't that a sign of insecurity, by the way?  Why can't we have a national anthem that asserts something rather than begs for affirmation?  Deutschland über Alles doesn't begin with an Ist, after all.)



In it's obsessive concern for the flag, the anthem never get around to discussing any other attribute of our nation, or noticing anything else beyond the flag's wave status, so no crazy philosophical or theological idea emerges, but as has been observed many times before, the tune is awkward and unlovely.

Most national anthems have lyrics belonging to what might be called the "purple mountains majesty" school:  lots of talk about the landscape, culminated with a promise before God to defend the country.  The beauty of O Canada is marred by a particularly lame (and so quintessentially Canadian) vow to "stand on guard for thee," a timid, passive phrase which has never been dumped, although that's what they did to the old, unofficial anthem "The Maple Leaf Forever" wherein "Wolfe the dauntless hero" is celebrated for crushing the francophones.  I guess the feeling was, it was only a matter of time until les Québécois noticed.

For England, it's not just Jerusalem; the country scores of twofer of kookiness with this verse from God Save the Queen:


...and some countries' anthems get bogged down in historical controversies that probably seemed terribly compelling at the time--here is Andorra's:


Well, la...tee...da.  Here's the Netherlands:


Come on people, get over it.  Then there's Poland, still dancing on the grave of some guy who's been dead for over a century:


I look forward to hearing verses that describe the many positive side effects of Hitler and Stalin.  Furthermore, it doesn't help matters that the national hero of Poland is named Dabrowski, who sounds like he should be famous, if he were famous for anything, for being the best bowler in Chicago.

Algeria's patriots adopt a favorite strategy of my kids:


...which is, if no one is paying attention, TURN UP THE VOLUME!  Other miscellaneous oddities include Austria (Land of Hammers! -- but hey, nice melody for once, Wolfgang; too bad the lyrics are, gasp! sexist) and Iceland (a reference to the solar system gives the song a nice sci-fi vibe); Turks worry that their "coy crescent" may "frown" (gee, I wish my life was that uncomplicated) and the Mexicans denounce "Masiosare" who wants to make their country "dirty with his plants."

Finally, we come to the Japanese, whose anthem is the most ... Japanese ... of them all.  The lyrics are a tanka, a 5-line, 31-syllable poem:

May the reign of the Emperor continue for a thousand, nay, eight thousand generations and for the eternity that it takes for small pebbles to grow into a great stone and become covered with moss.

...in other words, it's about a rock garden.

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Labels: Culture, fun, Poetry