Sub luna saltamus
Sunday musical excursion #50
As the dawn broke on the new decade of the 1980s, I was dating a cousin of one of the members of ABBA, and its Björn Ulvaeus and Benny Andersson were heading to Barbados to write some new material. Professionally, everything was coming up roses for the group. But the years 1979 to 1981 were a time of matrimonial troubles, with both couples applying to the divorce courts.
One of the first tracks for the new album, named Super Trouper (after a type of theatrical spot lamp—not without a large dose of irony) was not written on the theme of fouled relationships, unlike the album’s global hit The Winner Takes It All. Instead, it was inspired by … fascism.
ABBA had broken through on the scene after winning the Eurovision Song Contest in 1974 and had become one of pop’s greatest phenomena by the turn of the decade. They’d toyed with the disco sound, and their tunes are eminently danceable. But 1980’s venture into comment on a political system was unexpected and unfathomable. It would be ten years and more till the changes in the Soviet Union. The Nazis were 35 years of history. So what made them sing about fascism?
During the course of the song, the voice changes. The verses sing about them. But the refrains sing about us. Twice, between the chorus and the next verse, there is a Latin phrase, almost redolent of some demonic ritual. It’s the phrase in the title to this article.
It’s a happy, joyful tune. The kind of tune that could entrance the rats of Hamlyn to dance their way out of the city (the reference is too obvious to ignore; the other was The Stand by Stephen King). Of course, it’s a view. But if it’s one you subscribe to, then in how far are the allusions correct, especially like a parish is waiting for a priest? That suggests that the evil of fascism resides within us all—whether we hail from the north, south, east or west, from hill, valley or plain. All it needs is a piper to show us the way. Do authoritarians seduce us with promises of better times and greater riches? Many cannot fathom how Trump’s support has held so firm despite the promised economic conditions not coming to fruition. That can only mean one thing: their support is not conditional upon economic betterment. It’s conditional upon exacting some surrogate retribution against blacks, immigrants, and people who don’t belong here. On that score, it’s unimportant how rich Trump and his cronies get. That’s what will make their followers loyal: piping the rodents out of town.
Martin Luther King took exception to Lincoln’s statement that, once emancipated, the blacks should pull themselves up by their own bootstraps. King wanted the government to at least give them the bootstraps. But you can’t physically do such a thing. Bootstraps are meant for an equerry to help the gentry into their saddles. But one of you has to have his feet firmly on the ground. And it’s not exactly helpful if that’s the Black guy who’s putatively trying to get into the saddle.
You can no more pull yourself up by the bootstraps than you can let yourself down. That is a lie to the self. Breaching your own moral standard is no breach: it’s a redefinition of something you thought was more resilient than it is. Just as soft morals will always be there, so you can, indeed, let yourself down; hatred always lurks in the wings, waiting on the piper.
The Piper
Written by Benny Andersson and Björn Ulvaeus
Performed by ABBA
From their 1980 album Super Trouper
