File under “The Book of Love, Whom Wrote, Me Wonders Wonders Wonders”: I can’t get no satisfaction neither.
67 But even now I need to backtrack, as “Carolus Linnaeus” is the Latinized version of “Carl von Linne,” a version resulting from Carl naming himself with Latin influence since he wrote scientific tracts in Latin. Had he followed Scandinavian tradition, Carl who lived in Linne would have been Carl Nilsson (as his father’s name was Nils). Carolus Linnaeus is oddly the Celsius-ized version of the name. By the way, it was Carl’s innovation that gave us such taxonomical designations as Homo sapiens for humans, Orycteropus afer for aardvarks, and Artemisia tilesii for stinkweed. Because Carl had the power to name every living thing on the planet, I’ll concede him the right to name himself.
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Steven Pinker, in his readable, edifying, essential The Language Instinct: How the Mind Creates Language, takes to task the nonsense that the word their can’t be used with perceived singular nouns with this comment: “Everyone returned to his seat makes it sound like Bruce Springsteen was discovered during intermission to be in the audience, and everyone rushed back and converged on his seat to await an autograph.”
Everyone will await his autograph, but not his grammar advice. Why should they, since the Boss wrote such ungrammatical lyrics as “Nowhere to run ain’t got nowhere to go” and “Ain’t nobody likes to be alone.” Heck, Mr. Springstien can’t even spell his own name right.
But I’m not here to engage in persnickitation about grammar in song lyrics. I’m here to cheer appropriate bad grammar in song. I’m both amused and dumbfounded by the occasional web arguments about ungrammatical song lyrics, pointing out that Bob Dylan's “Lay Lady Lay” should really be “Lie Lady Lie” or that Eric Clapton shouldn’t be singing “Lay Down Sally” when the lyric really should be “Lie Down Sally.” (Hey—maybe the song is being addressed to someone who has thrown Sally over his shoulder. “Lay down Sally! Put the Sally down, and step away from the Sally!”)
We see deep, meaningful insight in such lyricritical arguments, such as the web post that decried the Creedence Clearwater Revival lyric “if I was a bricklayer” from the song “Penthouse Pauper,” by saying, “It’s ‘if I were’! Dumbass!”’ And I’m not making the “Dumbass” reference up. (Oddly, after a stanza if “if I was” lyrics, Creedence songwriter/singer John Logerty switches to two stanzas
of “if I were” lyrics, the smartass, and then a final stanza that contains both “if I were” and “if I was” lyrics, the dumbass.)
Myself, my favorite bit of grammar gymnastics comes in “Horse With No Name,” the ’70s megahit from the band America. One lyric explains that the loneliness of the desert allows you the facility to remember your own name, because in such an expanse “there ain’t no one for to give you no pain.” To me, that begs the questions: Would you forget your name if there was someone for to give you no pain? (Or, if there were —dumbass!?) And would you remember or forget your name if there were someone for to give you some pain? And does anybody remember what we were even talking about a moment ago?
We were talking about grammar in song lyrics, and how the language is scarred by otherwise eloquent headbangers misusing the mother tongue in popular music. Ultimately, who cares?
Well, I care. And I say, force the songwriters and singers to adhere to the truth of linguistics. Darnit!
But the truth of linguistics in the case of song lyrics and other artistic presentations is not grammar, but vernacular. The people who would have Mick Jagger singing “(I Can Achieve Nary a Modicum of) Propitiation” (“hey hey hey, that’s what I orate”) ignore the fact that, other than the old Schoolhouse Rock lessons on Saturday-morning kids’ TV, popular music isn’t here to edify. It exists to tell stories. Stories have narrators and narrators have voice—a way of speaking, a style of storytelling. “I cant get no girlie action” is voice. Force grammar into the characters of stories, and you’ll have Nicely Nicely singing ‘When you see a
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gentleman reach for stars in the firmament” in the next revival of the Damon-Runyon-based musical, Guys and Dolls.
So I say, go ahead, lady, lay across the big brass bed. Meantime, I’ll be listening to one of my favorite bands, Pete Townsend and The Whom. I like The Whom and their songs. Yes. Their songs. Crank up the album Whom's Next, Mr. Pinker!