Born on the Floor & Ballad of the Sin Eater

Wherein we get political. Geopolitical.

The songs in previous posts have a connection that might only exist in my head, but in this instance I'm pretty sure I'm not talking complete smack. Today's songs are "Born on the Floor" by the Make-Up and "Ballad of the Sin Eater" by Ted Leo and the Pharmacists.

Here, we're given a whirlwind tour through history, through geography, making stops at conflicts and milestones that much of our formal schooling glossed over. We're firmly in Zinn and Chomsky territory with these songs. They mean to shake you awake. The world is bigger than you might've thought. History is uglier than you might've thought. The refrain in "Ballad of the Sin Eater" is essentially the blunt realization most Americans grappled with on 9/11: "You didn't think they could hate you, now did you? Ah, but they hate you. Make no mistake, they hate you." 

And yet, these songs are pretty damned goofy. In "Born on the Floor," Ian, as an embryo, urges his mother to "create a terrible baby they all fear, who destroys the state." Ted, meanwhile, seems to be channeling Gob Bluth as he belts out, "I couldn't tell if it was Jersey or Sierra Leone, COME ON!!" 

So, exactly how seriously are we supposed to take all of this? Speaking for myself, I've been fascinated by Ian Svenonius's work for more than twenty years now, and I've given up on trying to figure him out. To a degree, we're all playing a character—and perhaps it's just that his is more developed than most. Yet, when he names an album 13 Point Program to Destroy America, you can't help but wonder, Well... how much does he actually mean that? And when he struts out on stage with a swagger that Prince might regard as a bit over the top, it begs the question: He's kidding at least a little bit, right?

Of irony, Rainer Maria Rilke wrote: “under the influence of serious things it will either fall away from you (if it is something accidental), or else (if it is really innate and belongs to you) it will grow strong, and become a serious tool and take its place among the instruments which you can form your art with.”

Whether Ian is being ironic, hyperbolic, sardonic, sassy, or something else, I do not know. But I did recently bump into him out of context. This was a month ago at Union Market in Washington, D.C. He was waiting in line for coffee, and I spotted his hair from far away. He seemed small (as people who loom large in your mind often do in person), and when I asked him if he was Ian, he said, “Yes?” in a startled way, as if he might be in trouble. I didn’t have a follow-up statement prepared, but the words that came out were, “Your music has been incredibly important to me.” Without realizing it, I found I had put my hand on my heart. In my entire life, I don't think I'd ever made that gesture. Whatever the proper term for Ian and his art might be, what it apparently elicits from me is plain old sincerity.

Ted Leo and I came into even closer quarters, though he was unaware of it. We ended up on the same American Airlines flight from D.C. to Chicago. The Pharmacists were seated sporadically throughout the plane, and Ted was five rows up from me, on the aisle. This was four years ago and even then I felt too old to approach him like a gushing, star-struck fan. Yet… there’s just not much to do when you’re strapped into a chair 10,000 feet in the sky. I considered showing him my iPod as proof of my fandom, with his name just before The Teen Idles, Television, The Temptations, and Thelonious Monk (the Ts did have me looking pretty cool). I rehearsed various approaches (Sorry to bug you… Hey, real quick…), and I mentally fact-checked the thing I really wanted to say to him: You, sir, are the smartest punk lyricist of all time.

I’m still pretty sure this is true. But how is anyone supposed to respond to that? In the end, I just stayed in my seat, though I did tap the shoulder of the guy next to me, and I pointed out Ted. “See that guy? He’s awesome.” And I left it at that.

Speaking of lyrics, I haven't included any on other posts, but there's a lot to unpack here. So, behold. (And I trust it goes without saying that the lyrics and music belong to the artists and you should buy these records post-haste. Also, do not call these songs indie. Just don't.)

"Born on the Floor"  - the Make-Up I was born in 1979. I was just a look in my daddy's eye. I put it into my mama's mind to push me through her thighs. I was enraged with the black ops sent by the CIA. I was packing things for Angola; she said "No, you're just an embryo!" When I came into this world, I wanted to be premature. I said "Mama, I gotta come out soon!" I kicked against the womb. I was born in 1961. I was born to be a son of a gun. a hot day in Dallas, my mother's water broke. contractions started, but I was late to the show. I was born in 1917 when the guns of October sowed my seed. I was born in 1908 when my battleship was sittin' at the dock of the bay. When I came into this world, I wanted to be premature. I kicked against the womb. I said "Mama, I wanna come out soon!" But by the time I was out, it was twilight; we were shut down. They cut my umbilical cord and left me there; I was born on the floor. I put that thought into my mother's mind and I put that look into my daddy's eye. I said "Mama, you must create a terrible baby they all fear who destroys the State." She delivered a bundle of joy so full of righteous hate, but by delivery time, they spanked my behind and it was too late. When I came into this world, I wanted to be premature. I kicked against the womb. I said "Mama, I gotta come out soon!" But by the time I was out, it was twilight; we were shut down. I was born, I was born I was born, I was born on the floor. When I came into this world, I wanted to be premature. I kicked against the womb. I said "Mama, I gotta come out soon!" But by the time I was out, it was twilight; we were shut down. They cut my umbilical cord and left me there; I was born on the floor.

"Ballad of the Sin Eater"  - Ted Leo and the Pharmacists When you run, digger, runner Listener, thief, you carry it all with you Today I woke up uncertain And you know that gives me the fits So I left this land of fungible convictions Because it seemed like the pits And when I say, "conviction" I mean it's something to abjure And when I say "uncertain" I mean to doubt I'll not turn out a caricature So I set off in search of my forebears Cuz my forbearance was in need But the only job I could get in dear old Blighty Was working on the railway between Selby and Leeds So I took a ferry to Belfast, where I had cause to think: They wanted none of my arm-chair convictions But nobody seemed to mind when I was putting on the drinks! So...I stayed out all night in Ibixa By way of San Sebastian, where they said 'Yanque, you better watch what you're saying, unless you're sayin' It in Basque or in Catalan!" So all the way east to Novi-Sad Where narry a bridge was to be seen But mother Russia, she laid her pontoons on down So I crossed over, if you know what I mean... Then on the road to Damascus, yes The scales, they fell from my eyes And the simplest lesson I learned at the mount of olives: everybody lies And the French foreign legion You know they did their best - but I never believed in T.E. Lawrence, so how the hell could I believe in Beau Gest? So...I spent a night in Kigali in a five diamond hotel Where maybe someday, they'll do the wa-tutsi down in Hutu hell And I fell in with a merchant marine who promised to take me home But when I woke up beaten and bloodied I couldn't tell if it was Jersey or Sierra Leone! And the knocking in my head, just like the knocking at my door And maybe it was me or maybe it was my brother But either me or me and him went down to the bar Where I got seven powers in me for to give me the cure But when seven powers failed to spin me I had to get me seven more And when I say, "me" I mean my brain And when I say "give me the cure" I mean to kill the pain And when I say "kill the pain" I meant to get the devil out And when I say "devil" I mean the manifestation of doubt! And you didn't think they could hate you Now did you you didn't think they could hate you, now did you? You didn't think they could hate you, now did you? Ah, but they hate you, make no mistake - they hate you...