That was the week that was

Revisiting the music of my parents: Tom Lehrer

The other day, Is and I were talking about how when you go to shows these days – at least the kind of shows by the artists we like – they’re filled with grey-haired gentlemen (and one or two ladies) in hot dispute with one another. Are they debating politics, social issues, books, or TV? No. They’re talking about who was better, the Beatles or the Stones, the current state of Bob Dylan’s reputation, or which Bruce Springsteen era was the best.

‘It’s like their World War 2,” Isabelle said, and that’s it exactly. For all the lucky people born within the parameters of an era when they never even got drafted, long-winded stories about the merits of Sonic Youth and the-first-time-they-saw-Dinosaur-Junior will have to suffice. Same with every single twitter and rap beef. It’s the privilege of our era, and if you think about it, it is very lucky of us. Surely when we all march into battle in about 2026, people will stop worrying about Drake vs. Kendrick, the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of fame picks, and just how shitty Nickelback was.

Considering our impending doom reminded me of something, and what it was, I realized later, was the songs of Tom Lehrer. Some people in Santa Cruz were doing a tribute concert to him recently, and I nearly went, but at the last minute I chickened out. Instead, I re-listened to “That Was The Year That Was” and “An Evening Wasted With Tom Lehrer” and boy, oh boy, did that take me back. When I was very little those records were never off the household turntable. I knew every line of the patter, despite the fact that I didn’t know the meaning of half the words, people, places, or ideas I parroted. Masochism? Lena Horne? Minsk? Debauchery? No idea. I didn’t even understand the pun in the title of the album until I typed it just now.

Anyway, listening to Tom Lehrer showed me lots of little surprises like that. It was so evocative I forced my family to listen to it at the dinner table on Thanksgiving.

“Do you remember the songs of Tom Lehrer?” I asked my brother, before I hit play.

“Yes,” he said, adding, “Who needs a hobby? Like tennis or philately? I have a hobby. Re-reading Lady Chatterley.”

Like me, he was so young when we first heard them that at the time he learned it, this couplet was utterly meaningless. We just liked the tunes. It surely must have been hilarious for my parents to get us to sing “Smut!” and “The Masochism Tango” at their dinner parties, and it was even more hilarious to re-sing them at Thanksgiving, now that we are old enough to understand the jokes:

If you visit American city,
You will find it very pretty
Just two things of which you must beware
Don't drink the water and don't breathe the air!

Today there is a certain type of person – often the same type who discusses the continued relevance Dylan at rock concerts – whose families listened to Tom Lehrer back then. Those were the people who turned into record nerds and even punk rockers; the type of people (like me) who have stuffed platypuses named Oedipus; the type of people who formed rock bands so they could have punny names like, I don’t know, They Might Be Giants.

I don’t actually know if the members of They Might Be Giants’ families listened to Tom Lehrer, but I’d put good money down that they did.

Revisiting the music of Tom Lehrer today is pretty poignant for many reasons, but not least is, because so much of what was on his mind then – namely, nuclear annihilation – hasn’t changed that much. “The Folk Song Army” and “The Old Dope Peddler” are outdated, but “National Brotherhood Week” and ‘We Will All Go Together When We Go” and “Pollution” are not. I guess I should take heart in the fact that we were not, in fact, annihilated, but that sense of being on a political precipice and laughing at the dreadful prospect is perhaps even more appropriate today than it was in the late 60s. Sad but true.

Because I have a PhD in literature I now know that Lady Chatterley was considered obscene because it describes an orgasm. You’re welcome.