Tom Lehrer (r)

Over the next week or two, we’re going to lighten the mood a little, and focus on comic murder ballads. April’s here, and it’s high time for comic relief. In a change from our normal m.o., we’ll put together several posts from among a few our bloggers, including one of us with some professional experience. That’s right, folks, in addition to being a blogger, a murder balladress, and a mistress of the “phallus dentatus“ (aka the musical saw), our friend Becky is also a comedian. Pat’s pretty funny, too, and I expect we’ll hear from him before we’re done. I’m sure they’ll appreciate how I set expectations…

Today, we’ll start out with Tom Lehrer‘s classic “The Irish Ballad.” We’ll generally keep it light in these posts. I find it difficult to avoid a feeling of self-parody when writing something about these pieces at all, although especially today’s song. However seriously we take our genre, though, we hope we don’t take ourselves too seriously. We’ll take some time over the next few weeks to focus on the comic rather than the tragic, as the tragic certainly gets its due here. We’ll hear both how the comedy goes right and, occasionally, how the comedy goes wrong. In the process, we hope to learn a thing or two–and be well entertained, to boot.

Brief theoretical interlude

Here’s how comedy works, courtesy of our friends at Brain Pickings:

Got it?  Excellent.

It also has something to do with “bisociation.” If you’d like a little more explanation, you can read here. Arthur Koestler explains bisociation as follows:

Arthur Koestler

The pattern underlying [the creative act] is the perceiving of a situation or idea, L, in two self-consistent but habitually incompatible frames of reference, M1 and M2. The event L, in which the two intersect, is made to vibrate simultaneously on two different wavelengths, as it were. While this unusual situation lasts, L is not merely linked to one associative context, but bisociated with two.

See, I told you we’d keep it light! Now that we’ve got that worked out, let’s move on!

Actually, on second thought, perhaps we should check in again with another expert witness on comedy, specifically as it might relate to murder ballads. Pat sent me this clip, and I think it’s on point for understanding why we can find murder ballads comic.

Cleese helpfully gives us the other side of catharsis here–explaining what that bang represents in the graph above.

Patricide! Matricide! Fratricide! Infanticide! Cannibalism! — The wonderful world of “The Irish Ballad” 

Tom Lehrer

“The Irish Ballad” is mathematician and retired musical satirist Tom Lehrer’s send-up of the murder ballad–and the folk music scene of his time by extension, although you would only know this from how he introduced the song in live performance. Lehrer’s satirical brilliance spared few obvious targets. Instead of politicians and other public figures, “The Irish Ballad” sets its sights on “The Great Folk Scare” of the 1950s–when traditional music surged to a surprising level of popularity. Lehrer’s song sparked the idea for this series, so it’s fitting that we begin with it.

When I started exploring this song, however, I got stuck. It didn’t “work” as a murder ballad, and it also initially seemed like just a pretext to tease the folkies. I’ve come to suspect that there’s more to it than that. You’re never really sure just how far down the satire goes.

My hesitation had to do with the question of whether one could take the song seriously at all. You can’t.

Here is “The Irish Ballad.” I suggest you listen to both clips, if you can, as Lehrer skewers a few targets differently between the two performances.

Lyrics with a transcription of one version of Lehrer’s introduction.

For those of you who prefer to see the action, you can watch an amusing and campy “Spiked Music Video” (not produced by Lehrer), that illustrates the story of our young maid most thoroughly. This clip only includes the song, and not Lehrer’s intro.

At first, Lehrer’s live performances reminded me of Judy Henske’s nightclub performances of  “Love Henry” (Spotify) and “Ballad of Little Romy”/”Omie Wise” (Spotify). Here’s Henske’s “Romy” routine embedded within the “folxploitation” movie, “Hootenanny Hoot.”

Unlike Henske’s pieces, though “The Irish Ballad,” is more than just a pretext for Lehrer’s opening schtick. Henske sings “Omie Wise” lustily , but she doesn’t alter the story of that ballad or “Love Henry” substantially. What makes her performances funny, although mildly unnerving as well, are the giddy, irreverent introductions. She destabilizes the seriousness of the stories, at least one of which is known to be a true one. The monologue lets off steam for the audience before the seriousness begins. This is an interesting performance decision in its own right. Perhaps she’s on the same page with John Cleese regarding the audience’s anxiety management.

Judy Henske (r), with Sandra Dee and Bobby Darrin

By contrast to Henske, the seriousness never really begins in Lehrer’s performances of “The Irish Ballad.” The song doesn’t “function” as a murder ballad in the way we’re used to. As comedy, though, the whole package works. This is most likely a zero sum game–the song working as comedy to the extent it doesn’t work as tragedy.

I’m wary of killing our metaphorical frog here, but I think it’s pretty easy to see how the contrast between content and tone, and the ridiculous level of bloodletting in the story, work for laughs in Lehrer’s performances of “The Irish Ballad.” Unlike some other songs we’ll hear, Lehrer’s song does not rely on puns and word play at all for laughs–the “bisociation,” if you will, comes from elsewhere. The full litany of horror shatters the audience’s suspension of disbelief, and with the help of the lighthearted tune, lets them enjoy the song as comedy, with no unwelcome withdrawals from their empathy banks.

The Importance of Witnesses

We’re not going to outsmart Lehrer on any of this. In some respects, I think he lays some traps for folkies to call balls and strikes on some of his choices, further enmeshing them in the satire. Would the song work as well without Lehrer’s introduction? Perhaps, although it wouldn’t go after the same targets in quite the same way. Would the satire come through without the introduction or the live audience? Well, perhaps a couple covers will give us an idea about that.

The Irish Ballad (Rickety Tickety Tin) from Jon Boden on Myspace.

To my ears, Boden’s unaccompanied performance is the acid test on this question of whether and how the song works by itself. His earnest, English folksinging style diminishes the contrast between tone and content found in Lehrer’s performance. The joke eventually comes across, however, in the sheer accumulation of horror, with Lehrer’s deft nod to propriety at the end. “Lying, she knew, is a sin.” Boden gives it to us much, much drier than Lehrer ever did.

Alright, MBMonday bloggers, what you got?!

One of us will be back soon with the next installment. It may be Becky or Pat, but I might sneak another one in before that happens. Thanks for reading.