I've thought a lot about what to write in this month's column, and have drawn a lot of blanks. Since September 11th, many have sought comfort in music and song. Others have looked for inspiration. I've tried to find both, as my own feelings have ranged from a helpless anger to a deep sense of sorrow to a resigned acceptance of the unfathomable human condition--and there have been lots of bumps along the way. I finally decided to write about someone whose outlook on life is often dour, but whose incisive wit always makes me laugh.
I don't know how or why laughter helps us heal, but whenever things look bleak I've found the dark humor of singer/songwriter Loudon Wainwright III to be a bracing tonic. Sometimes Wainwright's songs are a slap in the face, and sometimes a tender caress--but more often they're the source of an explosive (is it OK to use that word?) burst of laughter. Sometimes they portray life as the broadest of farces, other times as a wistful, soft-hearted comedy. And they help me understand, somehow, that perspective is often defined by our emotional proximity to the action at hand.
One song I've found particularly poignant lately is more grim than funny, a little gem from 1986 called "Hard Day on the Planet." In this song Wainwright's in-your-face vocal style sounds like that of a run-of-the-mill smartass, albeit one who's charmingly sensitive and articulate.
The song begins with Wainwright counting out the tempo and snapping his fingers, followed by a jazzy string bass that lays the foundation of a blues progression in a minor key. Wainwright sounds both annoyed and exasperated as he makes various observations about the current state of affairs, including:
A new disease every day and the old ones are comin' back
Things are lookin' kinda gray--like they're gonna get black
A piano joins in halfway through the verse, which builds to a climax as it makes an astonishing, almost embarrassingly prescient observation:
I wanna go on vacation 'til the pressure lets up
But they keep hijackin' airplanes and blowin' 'em up
Wainwright then continues to vent his feelings in the chorus:
It's been a hard day on the planet
How much is it all worth?
It's getting' harder to understand it
Things are gettin' tough all over on earth
Indeed. All over on earth, and right here at home.
A saxophone joins in, and the second verse picks up where the first left off. A few barbs are tossed at figures of the era in which the song was written:
It's hot in December--cold in July
When it rains it pours out of a poisonous sky
In California the body counts keep gettin' higher
It's evil out there, man, that state is always on fire
Everyone has a system but they can't seem to win
Even Bob Geldof looks alarmingly thin
I got to get on that shuttle--get me outta this place
But there's gonna be warfare up there in outer space
The chorus is repeated, only this time Wainwright is backed by a full gospel choir. Then, in the third verse, he begins to wax philosophical by appreciating what he has:
I got clothes on my back and shoes on my feet
A roof over my head and somethin' to eat
My kids are all healthy and my folks are alive
You know it's amazing but sometimes I think I'll survive
I got all of my fingers and all of my toes
I'm pretty well off I guess, I suppose
and for a moment or two it sounds as if he's mellowing out. But he falls back into the depths at the verse's climax:
So how come I feel bad so much of the time
A man ain't an island--John Donne wasn't lyin'
After another repeat of the chorus, Wainwright begins speaking the last verse, a resigned acceptance of the status quo:
It's business as usual--some things never change
It's unfair and unkind and unjust and it's strange
We don't seem to learn--we can't seem to stop
In mid-verse, however, Wainwright turns sarcastic. He ends up ranting about the cyclical nature of violence, and sounding eerily poignant in the wake of the events of September 11th:
I suppose some explosions might close up the shop, and you know
Maybe that would be fine, 'cause we would be off the hook, man
We resolved all the problems--never mind what it took
And it all would be over--finito--the end
Until the survivors start it up all over again
A rather succinct observation, I'd say.
Wainwright's warped sense of humor is more apparent in his unflinching approach to the stuff of daily life. The subject matter of his songs ranges from the banal ("The Swimming Song" and "Golfin' Blues") to the joys of parenthood (there couldn't be a more unabashed ode to an infant's healthy appetite than "Rufus is a Tit Man"), and from the throes of divorce ("Your Mother and I") to the essential aspects of cohabitation ("Housework"). Other songs have fantasized about accepting a Grammy, lamented the overuse of the word "like" without ever using it, and paid homage to those who huddle outside office buildings to get their nicotine fix.
Songs are more than just creative outlets for a select few; like mirrors held up to the societies from which they emerge, they also give voice to the thoughts and feelings of those who influence songwriters in thousands of subtle ways. Wainwright helps us laugh at the endless variety of human foibles. I find most of his observations and insights into the human condition to be wincingly accurate, and I don't think any songwriter has made me laugh more consistently, regardless of the mood I'm in.
If you're in need of a giggle and appreciate offbeat humor, check out Wainwright's music. If you want to laugh until your sides ache, go see him the next time he's in town.