This morning I managed to cut my leg in a minor manner. When I assured all concerned that the leg would not have to be amputated, I simply said, “It is all right. It just smarts.” I suspect that the use of “smarts” in that sense must have reappeared in my vocabulary after an absence of perhaps 70 years. But “smarts” is not a bad word at all. I think it describes the situation accurately.
When Hillary Clinton elected to enter the current presidential sweepstakes, she said to anyone who would listen to her that as soon as she was president, the “war in Iraq will be stopped.” Within a few weeks, Madame Clinton was quoted as saying that she believed the war in Iraq would go on until 2013. I would remind those of you who are good at subtraction that the year 2013 is six years from now. I suspect that her boast about ending the war in Iraq was what my ancestors would have called “bosh.” Bosh is another of those unused words that seem to have fallen out of favor in recent years. But when it comes to politicians, bosh is a remarkably resilient and descriptive word.
In a previous essay, I mentioned another forgotten word, which is purgative. Purgatives are required when constipation takes place. In recent years, “purgative” has been cast aside and we have used the word laxative. Now, however, “laxative” has run out of favor and we have the words “soothing relief.” It seems to me that “purgative” was a reasonably decent word in spite of its meaning to the average ill patient.
In the earlier essay, I believe I commented that the accurate term “grave yard” has been replaced by “cemetery.” Here again there is a euphemism when you see advertisements that tell you that “You may lie in peace forever in the rolling hills and meadows of The Joyland Cemetery.” That’s all bosh.
A fifth English language musing that has tormented me is the word “yonder.” There are no two ways about it, I like the use of “yonder.” Since the earlier essay was completed, I began to think about an ancient hymn called, “When the roll is called up yonder, I’ll be there.” In many instances, choirs, particularly black ones, sing this in what is known in musical terms as “the call and response mode.” That fashion of singing will have, for example, the sopranos and the altos singing the first line, and holding the last note, while the tenors and baritones respond by repeating that same line. The females will then offer the next line, to be followed with a response from the male choir members. When they reach the line about “I’ll be there,” the entire choir will sing that line in unison. The call and response singing is a lovely way of getting a hymn sung.
As I am dictating this essay, I am distracted by an earworm that shouts loudly, “When the roll is called up yonder, I’ll be there.” I have no expectation that this old essayist will be among those summoned for the final celestial roll call but listening to that old hymn, particularly when sung by a black choir, is, pardon the expression, music for the heart.
While I have been diverted from dictating an essay on English language musings, I feel a need to comment on another previously issued essay about the noise that passes for music in our grocery stores. Judy and I shop at two overpriced markets here in Millburn, New Jersey. We go to those markets, even though they are overpriced, because of the friendship of the workers. There are Jamaicans, Ghanaians, Columbians, Italians, and people from the exotic climes of Newark and East Orange, New Jersey. The music that is piped in is vulgar in the extreme. It demonstrates that our music has taken a dive to the bottom. What young people listen to these days is nothing short of being abominable. In the first place, music is played at ear-splitting levels. There may be two electric guitars that are played by young men who know one or two chords which they repeat endlessly while they shout their messages. The drummer, who has the principal part in what is called music these days, is not allowed to just keep time. The drummer sets the course of the music. Curiously many of the so-called bands appear naked from the waist up. I have no idea what that contributes to their musicality, assuming that there was musicality in the first place.
The noise that emanates from the loudspeakers does not tell a story, as most songs do. It is repetitive in the extreme. For example, here is a song that I just composed as I was dictating this essay. It is called “I Wanna Make Out Wit’ Chu, Baby.” The Berlitz people have looked at the phrase, “Wit’ Chu” on several occasions and have concluded that it means “with you”. So in proper English the song would be called, “I Want To Make Out With You, Baby.” These words are sung rapidly four or five times. They are followed by a chorus, which would be “’cause it makes me feel so good.” So the whole song is “I wanna make out wit’ chu, baby, ‘cause it makes me feel so good.”
In subsequent verses, the song I have just invented goes on to say that the singer wishes to make out not only with you, baby, but with your sister, your mother, your aunt, your hairdresser, your dress maker, and your dietician.
In the old days, which weren’t so long ago, songs were harmonious and told a story. With rock and roll and the hip-hop way of singing, words have lost their meaning and music is the poorer for it. The so-called bands with their shirts off would have no idea what to do with “When the roll is called up yonder.”
When the noise from the loudspeakers becomes so apparent that I must take note of it, it is my desire to get out of the store as quickly as possible. This is self-defeating because a soft waltz, a love song, or even a hymn would keep people around where they might buy something beyond what they have on their grocery list. But be that as it may, American music – which is not really music at all – has taken a downward spiral toward the bottom. Even military music sounds great in comparison. Unfortunately, there is not much that can be done about this uncivilized behavior. But old soldiers must live with the hope that, given some time, decency will prevail. In my case, I hope I am around when that day arrives.
E. E. CARR
November 29, 2007
Essay 273
Postscript: A further thought now appears in that when two men are friends with each other, they often “josh” each other. For example, when I asked Wayne Johnson, the plumber, how he liked my new haircut, he said, “I believe the barber took too much off the top.” So joshing is another expression of friendship that does not appear in many vocabularies these days.
Finally, there was Donald Rumsfeld, the former Secretary of Defense, who loved to use the word “metrics” when a perfectly decent word such as measurements would have sufficed. Then there was the occasion in Iraq when an enlisted man asked Rumsfeld why the vehicles driven by the United States Army had to be up-armored by metal they found in the Iraqi junk yards. Rumsfeld answered tartly, “You go to war with the army you have; not with the army you might want to have.” That was, in the dialects of Missouri, a “snotty” observation. I believe the reference to “snotty” is obvious to everyone. But why are things now supposed to be up-armored? I expect that this old soldier is losing his touch with the language of the Army of the United States.
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Kevin’s commentary: See this essay for more on the grocery stores. As to the quips about ‘what young people listen to these days’ being terrible, I’d posit that each generation has intelligent and idiotic music and this one is no better and no worse than those which have come before. Today for every artist like Nicki Minaj cranking out masterpieces such as ‘Stupid Hoe‘ there’s another band like Arcade Fire telling a story, or The National writing poetry. But oftentimes the most popular music that gets played is the music which appeals to the lowest common denominator, and is often the most mindless. This reflects more on how marketing work than on the tastes of today’s generation.