Rock Boat: Lyrics and Music

Last week I did not post because I was on vacation. Specifically, I was once again on a cruise ship with my favorite band, Barenaked Ladies (BNL).

This was not quite the same trip I’ve been on before. This time, instead of a boat filled with a) BNL fans, b) BNL the band, c) BNL side projects, and d) other BNL-selected bands, it was a different venue called The Rock Boat. Much more eclectic. There were hard rock bands, country rock bands, pop bands, one guy from American Idol, the whole gamut.

I know. I have no idea why I still have this tween-like obsession with BNL. Seriously, they should put me in an MRI when that band plays and watch what on earth happens to my neurons, because they’re like a serious drug. Why? Is it a right-brain left brain issue, with the contrast between the music and the lyrics? Perhaps that’s what it is: they get my blood whizzing across my corpus callosum, where I have classic MS damage.

All I know is last Saturday, after standing in line four hours with overly-friendly drunks, I felt isolated – that special type of lonely that only hits in the middle of a mob. I was withdrawn and isolated, and then BNL played one song and all the world was right. And every time they played it made up for anything I didn’t like about the vacation (detailed below).

I tried other bands, of course, but most were too pop for me, or too hard metal, or too country. And no one else seemed to have put PhD-level effort into their lyrics, which is evidently what I need to fall in love with a band. Perhaps I just heard bad songs. There was one particularly good lyric in a Michael Franti song about his son: “He’s my reflection in the water.” I missed half his set, and couldn’t hear another set from him because Michael Franti blew out his meniscus after his first show and had to leave the boat in Cozumel. “We broke Michael Franti,” my friend Carrie said.

In fact, at the songwriter’s panel one lone artist said, “Lyrics are not as important as the music, to me.” Many listeners must have agreed, given how many of them saw the lyrics as an inconvenience they had to shout over to have how-ya-been-buddy conversations. That happened only when I was on the edges of the concerts. We quickly learned the importance of band proximity if you didn’t want to be treated to loud chit-chat.

Front Lines

Crowd was into it, dancing, listening. The BNL audiences were particuarly attentive, given that they got personal attention from the band. Lead singer Ed called out Robin by name for requesting a song he didn’t know the lyrics to, and legendary Swiss fan Barbara got to play drums on the entirety of The Old Apartment. We hung on every word, because who knew when they’d mention us by name, like on Romper Room?

On the Outskirts

With the bands I wasn’t invested in, it got to be fun sitting on the outskirts and eavesdropping. There was one thirty-ish tech guru who expounded about life to such a degree that I hoped he was drunk, because to be that pompous while sober would be as insufferable .. well, as insufferable as I am. And at another concert a guy was loudly hitting on a soft-spoken girl while The Shadowboxers sang, “I’d love to make you wet / In between your thighs.”

“What is this? Are you listening to this?” he said, shocked, affronted. I noticed that he reacted the way an old biddy like myself should have, while I sat there thinking, “Wow. That’s not subtle. Love it.”

(Can’t blame The Shadowboxers for that lyric; evidently it’s a cover.)

Here’s a comment I heard on the edge of a crowd listening to BNL. (Or more accurately, not listening to BNL.)

“I don’t want music that makes me think. I want music I can drink beer to.”