A Geezer’s Notebook, By Jim Foster
I know the odd person doesn’t worry about song lyrics in this age of political correctness, but some of us leaders in the fight to bring sexual equality to the world do.
(“What is that loonie running on about now, Martha? Sometimes I think he should be put down.”)
Granted the song that got me going isn’t on the top of the current popularity list. In fact it hasn’t been up there for 59 years but it is never too late to make amends. Do you remember, You Belong To Me and the ‘pyramids along the Nile’ one?
I don’t know why I was humming that song in the shower; nevertheless, I was, and suddenly I was singing ‘See the pyramids along the Nile’ at the top of my lungs setting off the fire alarm and causing Nicholas, our cat, to head for the basement. It was then I realized that song simply couldn’t be sung in 2021 without a feminist uprising that would make the Haight-Ashbury Summer of Love marches of 1967 seem like a prayer meeting.
Think about the lyrics for a moment. Apparently one member of a devoted couple is on a world tour while his or her beloved is stuck at home. There are several things wrong here. For one thing, the at home person claims the traveller belongs to him or her. For the sake of getting on with it, let us assume it is the woman who is seeing pyramids and watching the sunrise on a tropic isle. Whatever the case, she does not belong to anybody.
Well, we don’t know her financial situation, it is quite possible she belongs to Visa or MasterCard unless her boyfriend gave her the money, which I doubt since she was a bit of a tramp when he met her so he isn’t going to finance a world tour without some sort of guarantee that she won’t be sleeping with every Tom, Dick or Haroon she meets along the way. Regardless, she does not belong to anybody, not in 2021 she doesn’t. The lyrics must be changed to meet the current guidelines.
Just remember, darling all the while
You and I are in a committed-relationship-wherein-neither-partner-owns-the-other-which- makes-me-wonder-why-I-am-up-to-my-ass-in-three-feet-of-snow-and-you-are-gallivanting-all-over-the-world.-What-is-the fairness-in-that?-When-you-get-back-we-better-talk-about-this.
We may have to make a few minor changes to the tune to fit it all in, but that’s not my problem.
I suspect 99% of the songwriters and lyricists back in those ancient times were male, not because they were any better than their female counterparts, but that is the way it was. It’s not that way more.
There was a foofaraw back in 2018 when a Cleveland radio station banned Baby, It’s Cold Outside because the lyrics suggested some rascal was trying to seduce a young lady. I don’t know where they got that idea. A man would never do that. It was hardly a seduction anyway. I heard from reliable sources she was wearing a negligee under her snowsuit and had a morning after pill in her purse. It’s no wonder she was feeling the cold, the poor dear just got back from watching the sunrise on a tropic isle, the credit card company had seized her car and she had to walk all the way to this bozo’s apartment.
As much as I am in favour of the feminist movement they have to admit their demands could very well destroy the romantic music business. No matter what the song, politically correcting the lyrics will screw it up big time.
The late, great, Frank Sinatra sang about some girl who was under his skin. (I`m not quite sure of the logistics of that at the moment, but I`ll look into it and get back to you) Fats Domino was getting a thrill on a hill picking blueberries with some young lady. The feminist weren’t too upset over that but I would think that the folks working so hard to protect the rights of migrant farm workers should be looking into it because that is how they make their living. (Incidentally, Fats was a quite a large fellow which suggests he ate more berries than he put in his basket)
On a similar note I saw a sign the other day inviting me to pick my own raspberries. I wandered through the field in three feet of snow and never found any… sorry I got carried away there.
Anne Murray sings a song about a lot of kisses on the bottom. I’m surprised someone hasn’t protested about that. I called her about it and she said, “If you don’t like it you can kiss my…”