The entire purpose of this post is to point out all things Wagnerian that are available for sale on Etsy. Are you all ready for this?
While first perusing Etsy one might not initially find some good Wagnerian gems. In fact, you're probably gonna see a whole lot of dutch ovens (this one costs $595.00!):
But eventually you'll find some delightful items. A guy in California is currently selling posters of the Ring Family Tree for a pretty cheap price ($20.00). I might buy one. No joke.
And last but certainly not least, feel free to strut around at the gym or at your ultimate frisbee match (I'm assuming) in your Richard Wagner t-shirt ($12.00):
This is going to sound odd, but I think that the 2013 calendar year was the year for African American male violinists:
The film, 12 Years A Slave, took on the narrative of Solomon Northup, a talented violinist forced into slavery. Musicologist Guthrie Ramsey has already written a great piece on this topic in Gawker, entitled "There Was Music in 12 Years A Slave? Yes. It Sounds Like Get Lucky." In it, he tackled how music functioned, how music *worked* to help maintain social order and perpetuate categories of racial difference. For example, Northup is at one point "ordered to be human Muzak" at a slave boutique where people are being sold. In another instance, slaves are singing a song about running away as their master preaches to them a Christian sermon. (For more information, please read Guthrie Ramsey's piece in Gawker here: http://gawker.com/we-re-up-all-night-to-get-lucky-or-there-was-music-in-1-1460666699)
I must confess that I still haven't seen the film yet because I'm a scaredy cat (if you know me, this confession will come as completely and utterly unsurprising) but I'm curious to know how many Americans (regardless of ethnic background) were taken aback to see an African American man playing the violin. "Huh," I imagine they said, "that's unusual. I've never seen something like this before." Being a black male violinist must have been such an irregularity/oddity throughout American history, right?
Hold on a second there. It would be wrong of me to make the claim that there were thousands of Solomon Northups just fiddling throughout America since the very beginning, all working on a Mozart violin sonata and complaining about that one passage in the Tchaik concerto. But what I do find interesting is how little people know about African American classical musicians, and, more importantly, how frequently their histories tend to be forgotten or expunged from the record.
A few other African American violinists to think about:
Joseph Douglass, the famous abolitionist Frederick Douglass's son. He got his big break playing at the Chicago World Fair in 1893 and ended up on the faculty at Howard University.
Clarence Cameron White is another example of a working violinist in the 19th century. A product of Oberlin's Conservatory of Music, he lived in London for a time studying the violin. He came back to the States to teach at Virginia State College and Hampton Institute.
Will Marion Cook, also a product of Oberlin's Conservatory of Music, studied violin at Berlin's Hochschule für Musik in the 1880s. Following his arrival back in the States, he studied with composer Antonin Dvorak for a year and then formed a chamber orchestra that toured throughout the United States.
The last name I'm going to mention (and there are others) is Samuel Coleridge-Taylor, who is perhaps the most celebrated black composer in music history. He's not African American, which people forget, but he tends to be smushed into the greater category of "black people making classical music." So fine. Whatever. He was a violin student at the Royal College of Music. Really, I just wanted to post this image that I found of him:
For some reason, my googling of black male violinists a while back led me down a particular rabbit hole that I'm not entirely sure how to get out of just yet. In the process of putting this blog post together, I came across this group:
Their name is Black Violin, and they're a hip hop duo from Florida who play the violin and viola. Here's one of their music videos:
And I don't know if the world can handle it yet, but here's *another* hip hop duo named Nuttin But Stringz who also try to blend hip hop and classical music:
Nuttin But Stringz (lord help me for writing that name more than once) was originally a group that tried out for some reality show and made it to the finals:
What are we to make of these two musical ensembles? I'm both surprised and not surprised by them, I guess. I *think* that they think they're being subversive by combining hip hop and classical violin together. I *think* they think they're being radical by being black male violinists in 2014. And I *think* they think they're trying to raise awareness and encourage money to be funneled into music education programs in African American communities...?
I think they mostly prove to me how histories are forgotten. How the Solomon Northups are made to become oddities. So that when these ensembles come around, we're supposed to think they're doing something new, when really, they're not.
What I do find intriguing about these musicians, however, is how they're performing a certain kind of black masculinity. With Nuttin But Stringz (again! gah!) especially, their exaggerated gestures and stomps seem to be their attempt to align themselves with hip hop, which, as plenty of scholars have excellently pointed out already, has been constructed to be black and male (more so than black and female, white and male, and white and female). Oh, and this black masculinity is, of course, hetero. It's super hetero. Lord help us if we start picking that piece of this performance puzzle apart (said snarkily).
Again, I think that we're supposed to see this as subversive. And perhaps it is. Perhaps there's something radical about having these performers own so grandly and confidently their black male identities while performing a musical instrument that many assume doesn't "belong" to them.
Mostly, though, I'm ambivalent. Do these groups demonstrate musical fusion/hybridity or are their performative acts further perpetuations of difference? Each ensemble seems to suggest that it's pointing American audiences towards the future, where "classical" and "pop/hip hop" will blend together into a commercial success. Perhaps this will happen. Perhaps it's already happening. I just don't want us to forget our Solomon Northups again.
Last week's episode of This American Life had a great segment where Ira Glass was talking about the types of ad campaigns on which cities sometimes embark to cultivate good will with their citizens, and the fact that, for the most part, these are met with blatant skepticism. Ira grew up in Baltimore, where he remembers one particular campaign about Baltimore being the 'Charm City' that was rebuffed by Baltimorians as preposterous, particularly in the 1970s after the inner city had been devastated by a combination of white flight and riots (now I wonder if the Hairspray song is a parody). His wife remembered that Detroit tried something similar, which was equally unimpressive (I would argue, however, that the Chrysler Superbowl ad for Detroit was a remarkable image of the city, and is certainly worth a look if you don't remember it). Then Ira interviewed Ken Lima-Cuehlo of Calgary, Canada, who not only remembered his city's song, but remembered all of the words and even remembered singing it with friends as a communal Calgary moment:
Calgary, Lima-Cuehlo explains, was a city experiencing an identity crisis. The other major city in the province of Alberta, Edmonton, had won the glory of the nation--or perhaps even the world--because they had the Edmonton Oilers, the most successful hockey team of the 1980s and the team that had the legendary Wayne Gretzky. In this time of crisis, 'Hello, Calgary' was a solace that their city was important, special, and unique.
You can imagine Lima-Cuehlo's disappointment when he learned that the song had been originally written for Milwaukee and adapted for numerous other cities afterward (including Pittsburgh, Atlanta, and Rochester):
[Ed. note: ballet and steel mills? Clearly the inspiration for Flashdance]
The question that I had in listening to this interview was why had the Calgary song been so thoroughly embraced by its citizens--Lima-Cuehlo does not remember thinking that it was cheesy or contrived--while the others were a lesser footnote of history. Undoubtedly, in part, this has to do with the image of the city in the first place. I can imagine that there would be skepticism toward a song singing Baltimore's praises in the 1970s, for example, when the city itself was undergoing such challenging issues. Calgary did not experience these same problems, of course. But what also struck me was that the eagerness with which Calgarians embraced this anthem was likely tied to the larger identity crisis that English Canadians were encountering in the 1980s, when there was little to claim as our own. I touched on this in my earlier post on Canadian identity, when I was remembering that most folk songs I learned as a kid were either French Canadian or from Newfoundland--two cultures that significantly differed from my own. Something like 'Hello, Calgary' on the other hand could easily be transformed into a point of pride for the part of a nation that was seeking its identity.
Calgary was not the only place to have such commercials. Ontario ran them too:
Why yes, that was a lion at 0:05. Why no, I have no idea why.
Incidentally, Ontario license plates switched to say 'Yours to discover' in 1982, around the time this campaign started.
Both 'Hello, Calgary' and the Ontario ads are big on showing off landscape, much like the currency at the time. Although there are people in both, they seem much more engaged with outdoor activities than anything else. Also, did anyone else notice a real dearth of women? I found that odd, particularly when compared to 'Hello, Pittsburgh.'
Montreal also had a series of ads in the 1990s to promote....um....Montreal. And they ran in Montreal. I am still missing the basic concept here:
Montreal, the ad proclaims, you are the future. And indeed, much in this commercial is very future-tastic, such as the prominent scientists doing something with science and someone graduating with such joy that she kicks her heels up in the air. Montreal! City that is going places!
I could have sworn that there was a far more sedate, less future-oriented English version, but I am unable to locate it on YouTube. Conspiracy? Maybe. But I'm pretty sure that it existed.
We live in an age where brevity is the soul of...well, it's basically our soul. It's an age where there is a truncated manner of expressing that something is too long, and therefore that we didn't read it (TL:DR). An age where an entire form of communication has been constructed around images/clips/animated GIFs to express our sentiments and feelings (Tumblr). An age where a medium for exchanging information limits our responses to 140 characters or less (Twitter).
And yet, somehow we love sprawling, time-consuming, wordy epics. For those who feel that they are TL, these epics are available in multiple media forms, such as the movie franchises of Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter [Ed. note: it would probably take less time to read The Hobbit than to watch all three movies]. However, I don't want to discount the fact that people are reading books, long books that one might assume are TL, but that, in fact, people do read (which, confusingly, is also DR). In fact, we are almost inundated with epics in our culture, possibly to an unprecedented degree:in addition to the ones listed above, there is also Stephen King's Dark Tower, George R. R. Martin's Game of Thrones, and even epic-lite in those Twilight books (which also spawned Fifty Shades of Grey. This is probably not epic, unless you are referring to epically bad writing).
Why do we love epics so much? Maybe the better question is, when have we not loved epics? One of the oldest recorded works of literature is The Epic of Gilgamesh, of course. Countless other examples have survived through the ages. Even for those unfamiliar with the originals, the classical epic continues to exist in the cultural imagination in forms such as Troy. But there is a significant difference here. I suspect that your average person on the street would not be as familiar with the Iliad even when it did star Brad Pitt or the Chanson de Roland [Ed. note: this one kind of goes on, sometimes, in places, while fair Roland climbs a hill for what feels like forever, so maybe it is good that we are not so familiar with that one any more], but that this same person would be familiar with the modern versions listed above. So perhaps the question is better framed as, why do we love these epics?
You may be wondering why I haven't mentioned the most sprawlingest, time-consumingy epic of our age, which has to be Star Wars, especially when you consider the wealth of literature, film, commentary, and other cultural references that it has spurred [Ed. note: there is even a 70s variety show holiday special, which you would think would be hysterically funny because it has to be so bad, but then somehow transcends to an entirely new level of bad that you never even thought possible, even in your wildest dreams. If that's not 70s enough for you, then how about the disco medley of themes from the original movie as featured onDutch television?]. Indeed, this post was motivated by the fact that I have consumed an alarming quantity of Clone Wars episodes now that they have become available on Netflix Instant. For the sake of my dignity, I will refrain from telling you where I am in terms of the whole series [Ed. note: Chewbacca has shown up]. Part of Star Wars' appeal, of course, is that it dabbles in many of the same kinds of themes that are so common in epics throughout the ages. There is the hero on his quest, in the form of Luke (and, as we learn in the earlier movies, his father). There is the conflict between father and son. There are hints that a larger power binds us together, but can also be harnessed to pull us apart; in the Iliad, these were the gods, whereas in Star Wars, it's The Force. There is the fear of death and questions about the afterlife, which is found all the way back with Gilgamesh. There are a series of wandering characters that have either lost their actual homes (the Jedi in the later movies, Leia after the destruction of Alderaan) or their perceived ones (Anakin, which is one of the routes to his downfall). Undoubtedly, these timeless conflicts are part of why Star Wars remains so appealing--in fact, there is a Jungian analysis of an episode of Clone Wars that seeks to uncover some of the age-old themes contained within this particular series.
However, I don't think that these themes are the only reasons that epics are so hip right now. Instead, I think that it is the possibility unveiled in the epic world, and the ability to translate that 'world' into a form of reality--or at least a form of online reality--in a way that never existed before. To fully get this idea, imagine if Wagner's Ring cycle came out now. People would make a Wagnerpedia to trace characters and backgrounds. There would be Wagner blogs, Wagner websites, and general Wagneriana as everyone tried to find even more hidden connections between each of the music dramas--this does exist, in a way, but it has been sanctioned instead as scholarly work and musicology instead of fandom. I totally see a graphic novel. In fact, I totally want to see a graphic novel and someone should get on this. Fans did exist, in a way, even back when these works debuted. They created 'listening guides' so that audiences could follow along with the themes (German musicology scholar Christian Thorau has discussed the importance of the leitmotiv as a concept in his book Semantisierte Sinnlichkeit, if you are interested in finding out more on this topic). But an entire Wagner world was out of most people's reach, unless you happened to be King Ludwig of Bavaria, who re-created the grotto from Wagner's Tannhäuser at his Linderhof Palace:
Probably not the best use of taxpayer money
I would like to submit that part of the fascination with epics now is that we have an unparalleled way of visualizing the worlds that are contained within them. These worlds can emerge in obvious ways, as in film adaptations, but there are even more ways in which these worlds are being brought to life:
1) New Zealand has actual Lord of the Rings tours so that you can immerse yourself in the landscape seen in the film--or, if you prefer, the vision of the landscape found in the books as imagined by Peter Jackson:
Actual epic-looking figure in foreground will likely not be part of your tour
2) There is Harry Potter Land (better known as The Wizarding World of Harry Potter). It exists at Universal Studios in Orlando, FL. Not only can you 'see' Harry Potter, you can also 'live' parts of the books by consuming such delicacies as butterbeer or candy treats from Honeydukes:
I selected this photo because I feel like no one would mistake these park-goers for Hogwarts students
3) To the best of my knowledge, there is no Star Wars Land, or if there is, it is wholly housed in some guy's basement (don't worry, Disney is already on this). And there have been virtual Star Wars worlds, in the form of the MMORPG The Old Republic. This expanded world also exists in digital form through the Wookieepedia, a website that (as you may have guessed) replicates Wikipedia, only for the universe of Star Wars. It is a remarkably comprehensive chronicling of every possible character, planet, or other feature to do with the Star Wars universe. In fact, it is so comprehensive, that if you need basic information about some character, you may sometimes find yourself reading the article introduction, obtaining the basic facts that you wanted, then realizing that there remains an entire article whose information is not even necessary. Take, for instance, the Nightsisters, which has a four-paragraph introduction providing an outline of their history and purpose, then has eight more subsections in case you want to know more (it's okay to say TL:DR here. Don't feel bad. If you have no idea who the Nightsisters are, or why they are important to the plot of Star Wars, as I mentioned above, Clone Wars is on Instant Netflix).
[Ed. note: I have read the entire Nightsisters article]
It's worth taking a moment to consider the history of the encyclopedia, which originated in the Enlightenment as a means of discovering, classifying and documenting the world as interest in science overtook belief in religion. We take encyclopedias for granted now, since we have such easy access to an unprecedented amount of information; even (the much reviled by those of us who teach) Wikipedia provides a wealth of knowledge about arcane topics that may not be found in any other resource. Where else can you turn quickly when you forget the names of the Thundercats, for example? Just as Wikipedia documents a more complete picture of our world than its print forebears like Encyclopedia Britannica--which does not have information about the Thundercats--a project like Wookieepedia gives the impression that it is documenting a world that is fully developed, coherent, cohesive, and operates as a unit. Without modern technology, such documentation would be virtually impossible. It is this epic world-building, I would argue, that keeps epic storytelling relevant in our post-modern world.
To finish up, enjoy the modified Clone Wars version of the Star Wars theme, which has been changed so that it is more militaristic and less heroically bombastic--this is, of course, a universe at war:
I am planning to devote a series of posts to what I call 'Aspirational 70s New York,' a consideration of how New York was portrayed in television and movies during this decade (spoiler alert: mostly in movies). To me, there is something unique about the importance of upward mobility in these films, something that does not happen in contemporary films set in other locales, or even in New York films of the preceding and following decade. Of course, New York is the city that never sleeps, where you can be king of the hill and/or top of the heap--but that song, too, dates from Scorcese's 1977 film New York, New York, so it proves my point. Among the movies that I plan to discuss are Shaft (1971), The Godfather (1972), Annie Hall (1977) [possibly also the 1979 film Manhattan], and Saturday Night Fever (1977). No, that last one was not a typo. Counter-examples that I also plan to discuss include On the Town (1949), Breakfast at Tiffany's (1961), Wall Street (1987), Moonstruck (1987), Do the Right Thing (1989) and Goodfellas (1990). That's a lot of movies, but let's set some high aspirations. Depending on how things go, I may also have something to say about films set in L.A. and/or Boston.
As a quick introduction though, allow me to present the opening credits of two shows from Norman Lear's arsenal of successful sitcoms that demonstrate the opposite ends of the aspirational New York spectrum. One, starting in 1971, serves almost as a counter-example of what New York is supposed to be because its characters often seem out of their time and place. You've probably already guessed it:
This is an interesting portrayal of New York. There is a brief view of Manhattan, with its buildings, but we are quickly swept to the bland, generic housing of Queens, with identical house after house--an indication of a lower-class neighborhood in contrast to the glitz of midtown. Of course, we also learn a great deal about our characters right away from the lyrics. They reminisce for the 'good old days,' a time when life seemed simpler and more enjoyable. But it's worth noting the irony of what they are discussing: the Great Depression, as indicated by the reference to Herbert Hoover. Even the reference to the LaSalle is potentially tongue-in-cheek. The LaSalle debuted in the 1920s to much fanfare as a slightly cheaper (but still classy) Cadillac, but because of the Great Depression, sales dropped significantly and the model was discontinued in 1941 (I will wholly admit to drawing on Wikipedia for this information). Why is this a counter-example to aspirational goals? Because if the 1930s were the times that Archie and Edith are remembering as best, then they are recalling a time when their class status would have more likely decreased exponentially, particularly since Archie is a blue-collar worker--I somehow doubt that their families owned a LaSalle, which was a signifier for car nostalgia in later years. That they now feel as though they are suffering from some kind of identity crisis is particularly acute with the references to, 'And you knew who you were then/Girls were girls and men were men.' What has happened now? As the show amply demonstrates, Archie's understanding of his place and role in society is rapidly changing and being constantly challenged. He is often shown to be an anachronism, much like his theme song indicates.
You have probably already guessed my next example from the Norman Lear sitcom canon that demonstrates the diametric opposite:
This is a great theme song, by the way. Possibly one of the all-time best.
Anyway, let's contrast this one to All in the Family. Take its portrayal of New York, for instance. Instead of panning through and moving away from it, images of famous sites in Manhattan permeate this version, scattered throughout as the theme song is heard. One of my favorite moments is around 0:13, where you see Louise wipe a tear away. Why? Because they have moved on up, to the East Side, of course--it's amazing how geographically specific this song is. Also, the ability to move is extremely significant (and will come up in other discussions of aspirational New York). In fact, one crucial recurring topic in representations of New York characters is precisely their mobility: some characters travel with ease through the city, which often demonstrates that they can 'move up' beyond their original class, whereas others are stuck in place, unable to escape the conflicts that hold their lives back. Imagine, for a moment, if the Jets or Sharks could simply move to another neighborhood in West Side Story (more geographical specificity); then maybe there would be a 'place for us' instead of the tragic end. Of course they can't, because then it wouldn't be called 'West Side Story,' but that can be a discussion for another day.*
The Jeffersons have moved on up in the sense of their economic class, which leads to a deluxe apartment not only in the sky, but across the bridge from Queens--indeed, during the credits, there is a moment shot from their point of view as they approach Manhattan (0:21), with its distinct skyline and landmarks--unlike AitF, which started in Manhattan, then quickly veered away. The Jeffersons can even enjoy the nature and greenery of Central Park (0:33), in comparison to the Bunkers' neighborhood, which has few trees. That this journey is exciting for the characters can be seen from George Jefferson, who is enthusiastically showing his wife the sites as they drive. His swaggerwalk at the end is also probably one of the best in sitcom history.
There is also an inferred comparison here, since George and Archie were at one point neighbors--The Jeffersons was, of course, a spin-off from AitF. George's move to Queens was already a 'move on up' from his origins in Harlem (and extending back, a significant move up from his parents, who were sharecroppers); the fact that the Jeffersons moved next door to the Bunkers was an important plot element in AitF since Archie and George frequently clashed while their wives commiserated about their hard-headed husbands. However, this conflict was rooted in a greater one that affected Archie Bunker. As the AitF episode 'The Insurance is Canceled' (season 2, episode 10) demonstrated, Archie's neighborhood was considered by insurers to be increasingly dangerous because of more crime due to 'shifting demographics'--code, in this case, for more black people moving in (Lear is, of course, criticizing this practice). That the Jeffersons are able to get away from this 'bad' neighborhood is a testament to their aspirations, while Archie, stuck in the past, is left behind.
There can be no question of the 'blackness' represented in the music for The Jeffersons, particularly the repeated use of the flattened scale degrees, call and response between the singer and choir--creating a gospel effect--and the frequent syncopation, particularly in the bass part. This song serves as a short-hand both for their upward mobility, but one that remains rooted in their race. They have not achieved success in spite of their race, they are fiercely proud of it and remain so. This pride in heritage is another crucial feature of 70s aspirational films: no apologies are made for belonging to a minority group, instead it is accepted and embraced, frequently serving as a source of strength.
*Fun fact: originally, it was supposed to be East Side Story and pit Catholics versus Jews during an Easter/Passover grudge match. Part of me thinks this would have been a huge flop, but a larger part of me wants to see it anyway.
A brief note: the purpose of this post isn't to be political. It's just to point out that irredentism is a thing, it's long been a thing, and it's going to continue to be a thing. So media reports that compare Putin to Hitler on the basis of irredentism alone are just trying to go for shock value instead of actually informing you about what irredentism in Europe has looked like over the past 100 years. Before we begin, here's a quick and dirty definition of irredentism: a belief that advocates for the annexation of neighboring territories based on the same ethnicity, language, and/or culture, actual or alleged. Irredentist claims to territory existed before Hitler. It's what helped WWI get started. The Serbian nationalist group, the Black Hand, wanted (mostly, vaguely) the part of "Serbia" that was in the Austro-Hungarian empire to join the Kingdom of Serbia (led by a reluctant, somewhat terrified, and resentful Peter the 1st). After WWI, Italian fascists, feeling robbed by the Treaty of Versailles, made irredentist claims on a part of the Croatian coast (look up the brief history of the Italian fascist Free State of Fiume).
Irredentism is currently a thing for ethnic Hungarians living in Romania, Slovakia, parts of the Ukraine, the Burgenland area of Austria, Croatia, and Serbia. In 1920, after the signing of the Trianon Treaty, Hungarians lost roughly 70% of their empire. 1/3 of all Hungarians after 1920 lived outside of Hungary's borders (Slovakia, Romania, etc.)
Around 1989, talking about the Trianon Treaty became a way to unify Hungarians against the crumbling USSR. Unfortunately, the Trianon Treaty also became part of Hungarians' efforts to reclaim Hungarian culture, and distinguish between the "real Hungarians" and the "cosmopolitans." Guess who the "cosmopolitans" were?
The people today advocating for Hungarian irredentism and bemoaning/bewailing the Treaty of Trianon are part of Hungary's successful far-right parties. In fact, a quick googling of Hungary and anti-Semitism led me to this NPR post from AN HOUR AGO. The headline reads "Increased Hostility Against Jews and Roma in Hungary" and points out that Hungary is more anti-immigrant and hostile to minorities than anywhere else in (western, central) Europe right now: http://www.npr.org/blogs/codeswitch/2014/03/09/287342069/increased-hostility-against-jews-and-roma-in-hungary
So when you perhaps stumble across a news item about another small town in Hungary erecting a Trianon Treaty statue to memorialize their victimization and celebrate the unity of Hungarian culture, think about what that statue might mean:
As you can probably tell by now, my natural inclination is to be suspicious of irredentist claims to territory because they reinforce the notion of an organic, natural, pure community (thanks, Gottfried Herder!). If everyone were to just come together, goes the line of thinking, our national community would just fall neatly and naturally into place.
As someone who has always, *always* been the outsider to these "natural communities" I especially distrust and dislike this idea. Yes, people are being "included" into a greater body but you sure as hell had better believe that some people are being excluded, too. I felt excluded as a black girl growing up in Vienna, Austria. And then I came to the States, thinking it would be better (and it is, to a certain extent) only to discover that Langston Hughes had a to write a poem called, "I, Too, Sing America." Only to hear people talk about the "real America" that existed in farmlands in Kansas or the mountains of Montana - places that were majority white.
So forgive me for not applauding irredentists for their particular brand of nationalism. It's not my "thing."
Have any other examples of irredentism you'd like to share with us? Leave it in the comments.
Continuing the discussion on Canadian nationalism, I would like to take a moment and consider the 1954 currency series that was issued by the Canadian Mint:
The other bills ($20, $50, $100) are in the same ilk
If I had to sum up the country from this series of currency alone, I would say, 'Canada: we have landscapes, but no people.' However, a closer look at these images reveals that in addition to these various panoramas, we also have resources. For instance, on the $1, we have plains suitable for growing wheat. On the $5, we have trees, just waiting to be logged. Even the $2, with its gentle, rolling hills, suggests that some kind of agriculture is taking place since the whole countryside looks so tamed. While there were some modifications to these scenes made in the next currency series (issued in 1969)--such as the inclusion of a schooner on the $5 and the Canadian parliamentary building on the $1--the $20 retained this idea of Canada as Scenic Landscape Panorama:
Indeed, Canada as land of primary resources and nature was reflected in a very popular series of videos issued by Environment Canada (government entity) and the National Film Board, entitled Hinterland Who's Who. These short clips would provide a brief documentary about a specific creature that was found in the Canadian wilderness. These videos have appeared on Canadian television since 1963, and continue to run even today, although they have been revamped for a more modern format. The theme music is iconic and makes a fabulous ringtone:
The calls have 'come to symbolize Canada's wilderness because of their lonely, haunting quality.'
The impression that one has, between currency and wildlife videos, is that Canada is a vast, lonely place, inhabited by many creatures, but few (if any) people. This is, in fact, pretty accurate, since Canada is large and, in places, sparsely populated. But how to represent its people?
One answer came with another National Film Board video entitled, 'The Log Driver's Waltz,' which was also shown on television and in movie theaters. This 1979 version provided animation for the song written by Wade Hemsworth, a Canadian songwriter who also saw how logging camps operated during the 1950s. There is a 1955 Smithsonian Folkways album of his music entitled 'Folk Songs of the Canadian North Woods,' although 'The Log Driver's Waltz' is not one of the selections included. While I would hate to make a generalization about the entire nation based on this cartoon, my suspicion is that most of us believed this song to be much older, one that originated in logging camps and possibly one that was sung by lumberjacks.
I suspect that part of the popularity of this particular cartoon (and I would guarantee that most Canadians remember it and could even sing the chorus) is that it reflects what are generally viewed as Canadian values--and not just in the Canadian wildlife that appears while the log driver is going down the river (i.e., moose and beaver). The verse about the narrator having to dance with white-collar men, such as the doctors and lawyers, but preferring the log driver reflects a particularly Canadian idea that all of us are entirely equal. There is very little concept of elitism in Canada, and certainly elitism is not grounded in education. So while our narrator's parents might prefer for her to choose a more rich and stable man, she is perfectly content with a blue-collar worker.
I wouldn't make such a big deal about the possible intention of minimizing the authorial influence in favor of a folk interpretation if it wasn't something that happened in a second case as well. The song 'Barrett's Privateers' might be one of the few that many Canadians would know and consider to be 'a part of our heritage' (as some of the other National Film Board videos would put it). This song seems to be especially authentic: it mentions actual Canadian locations (Halifax, Sherbrooke); it tells the story of a boat crew and their adventures; and it sounds, well, 'old':
Except that it's really from 1976.
So then why has it taken a place as a purportedly authentic song? I would suggest that this song contains some sentiments that Canadians want to think are timeless. Take, for instance, the chorus, which is repeated multiple times: 'I was told we cruise the seas for American gold/We'd fire no guns.' What could be more Canadian than that? 'Let's go pillage the neighbours, but not do any harm while we are doing it. Sorry.' Of course, things don't go as planned, and it is an American ship (specifically, a 'bloody great Yankee hove') that takes down the Antelope. Perhaps even worse, the American ship is laden with gold ('god damn them all'), so there is something here about thwarted aspirations--a feeling that Canada seems to know well when competing with its neighbors to the south.
This folk-ish quality also has a long legacy in Canadian music, as evinced in the 1990 song 'Home for a Rest,' by Spirit of the West (this is also the designated song that had to be played late at night in Canadian clubs during the 1990s and a frequent favorite at weddings). While there was no suggestion that this was some kind of ancient Canadiana, it is hard not to hear the distinct folk roots of this piece in the violin parts and the song as a whole, and I would suggest that it fits with the other selections as something that sounds kind of old, but really isn't:
