IT IS sometimes claimed that the devil has all the best tunes. It is not true; America does. From the earliest western singers to the brashest of rap artists, American musicians have never been shy of singing about their homeland. Robert Johnson pined for his “Sweet Home Chicago”. Woody Guthrie (pictured) sang of a country which stretched “from the redwood forest to the gulf stream waters”. West Virginia is almost heaven and California is dreamed of. Georgia is on my mind and Compton is where one comes straight outta. The list is endless.
It is not the same with England. When one considers its huge influence on popular music, relatively few songs have been written about the country which spawned Merseybeat, Glamrock, 2 Tone and Britpop.
This was brought home to your correspondent recently, when I was asked to play at a St George's Day event in London. Wouldn't it be a good idea, I thought, to come up with a set of songs about what it means to be English? A few songs immediately suggested themselves: “English Rose” by the Jam; “Penny Lane” or “Strawberry Fields” by The Beatles perhaps; and virtually anything by The Kinks or Blur, two bands which might be considered chroniclers of modern Englishness. But the list soon dried up. There are a few political songs, such as the Sex Pistols' “Anarchy in the UK” or Billy Bragg's “Between the Wars”, but these are really about Britain, not England. There are, admittedly, plenty of great songs about London, such as “Guns of Brixton” by The Clash or “LDN” by Lily Allen, but the capital has always felt something of a separate country.
So where are all the good songs about England? When Nat King Cole sang about “Route 66”, he managed to make what is essentially a list of 13 American towns sound impossibly exotic; even though most of the places he name checks—Kingman, Barstow, San Bernadino—are hell-holes. But, how might the equivalent song written about an English road sound? Let's call it “M1”:
“Well it winds from London to Leeds (under 200 miles away)…you'll see Leighton Buzzard and Luton, Bedfordshire; Rotherham and Barnsley, don't forget Worksop…”
Well, you get the picture. The towns are equally dire, but it doesn't quite have that romantic quality. One reason for this is the English trait of self-effacement. One of the worst insults you can throw is to accuse an Englishman of taking himself too seriously. No home-grown musician could keep a straight face while singing earnestly about Dartford. Hence, Mick Jagger found it much easier to write a song about Jackson, Tennessee (sung in a preposterous American accent) than he did about the town of his birth.
Indeed, because so much of the English scene has been based on musical styles which were invented in America—blues, punk, soul and hip-hop—it is only natural that musicians feel that it is more glamorous to sing about places across the pond. Bands such as Fleetwood Mac, Cream and Led Zeppelin cut their teeth playing blues covers about places they wouldn't have been able to point to on a map. The irony is that when British bands re-import American music to the US, it is often those who aren't afraid to confront their Englishness—The Beatles, The Clash or Radiohead, for example—who end up being the most influential.
But there is another, perhaps more powerful reason for English reticence: guilt. The English have learnt to feel wary about anything that might be construed as nationalistic. The British may have conquered an Empire, but it is the English who carry the moral burden of it. Celebrating Englishness has thus sometimes felt a bit too close to celebrating imperialism. And for a rock star this is not considered very cool.
Which is perhaps why the Scottish and Irish do not have this problem. Coming up with a set list for St Patrick's or St Andrew's Day would have been easy. Having spent centuries being oppressed by the sasanachs south of the Border, the Scottish have few qualms singing nationalistic songs about fighting the English—such as “Flower of Scotland”, about the Battle of Bannockburn, or “The Bonnie, Bonnie Banks of Loch Lomond”, a lament of soldiers hanged after the Bonnie Prince Charlie uprising of 1745. Irish songs often pine for the beauty of the country, sung by a population driven from their homeland by war, famine or poverty. Many of those displaced Scottish and Irish made new homes for themselves in America. And it was their folk music, played on fiddles and banjos, which eventually spawned American western, and then country music. Which is another reason why America has never suffered from England's self-consciousness when discussing itself in song.
Will we ever reach the point at which English songwriters will write as unabashedly about their home? It is possible. Music is becoming more homogenised. There are fewer big stars spouting ever more corporate sentiments. It matters not whether you are in a London pub, a New York cafe or a Hong Kong noodle bar, the chances are that Rihanna will still be on the radio. Perhaps the time is ripe for a backlash and people will begin to demand more personal songs rooted in the places they know. There are signs. Laura Marling, one of England's hottest singer-songwriters, takes just this approach. The Arctic Monkeys, at their best, rival The Kinks as commentators on everyday English life. Perhaps the day in which Adele regales us with songs about a rainy night in Tottenham is just around the corner.
Five of the best songs about England
“Dirty Old Town” By Ewan MacColl: Although about Salford, it could be the soundtrack to any industrial town in Northern England
“This is a Low” By Blur: A song about ennui, the weather and the shipping forecast. What could be more English?
“Goodbye England (Covered in Snow)” By Laura Marling: Perhaps one of a new generation of songwriters who feel confident enough to write songs about England without worrying about the baggage
