How much can a man spiritually abuse himself before he falls apart? This seemingly lilting country-punk song tries to answer the question with stark, bare words that would fall apart if only the Mekons didn't answer their own desparation with big drums and a swinging fiddle that shines like a ray of light across a gray, winter sky (courtesy of Steve Goulding and Suzie Honeyman).
Ah, the Mekons. The longest running punk band, maybe because they preserved the punk ideal while expanding upon its musical form. The greatest band you've never heard of.
Singing about spritual demise came naturally to a band that played on for years without ever breaking through, making music of (high) consistent quality. The only song I love as much written out of similar straits is Mott The Hoople's "Ballad Of Mott", but at least Mott hit with "All The Young Dudes", whereas the Mekons barely managed to sign with a major label for one album and never charted.
But the Mekons never quite gave up and they had an aptitude for writing about the gray towns in the underbelly of England, the broken aspirations - the people who came out for one last rally, gave up, crawled home only to come back for one last last rally the day after. They romanticised the situations enough to find folk-pop hooks to inspire them but they never sanitisized the fear that lurked just below the surface of their best songs. In fact, that fear informs all of their songs.
It's that fear that keeps me coming back for more. Because the way the Mekons portray fear doesn't drive me shivering under the covers. Instead, because they choose to face that fear while celebrating the human condition, they allow me to experience that fear with people who chose to face their own fears and live out a life doing something they deemed worth fighting for.
No matter how much you love a song, you will eventually hear it when you need it more than ever and it will come to you and show things within itself and within yourself that will make your skin crawl.
My most poignant moment with "Chivalry" came in January 2006. I was on a business trip in New Hampshire, the company I was working at seemed to be folding and I had no idea what I was going to do next. Over the weekend, I took the rental car and drove into the New Hampshire hills to a wine store in Massachusets, three hours away. It wasn't a very cold winter day for New England but it was raining all day and it didn't seem like there was a soul in sight. I recall driving down a hill and taking a slight turn as the song came on the CD player.
I was out late the other night
Fear and whiskey kept me going
I swore somebody held me tight
But now there's just no way of knowing
I saw your face in a crowded bar
"Excuse me please!"
At least I thought it was you
Now I just don't know where you are
My suit was smart when I put it on last week
All I could remember as I walked down the street
Was the rain and tears on your face
Oh gee, I guess I'm just a disgrace
Copyright 1985 The Mekons
I remember thinking as the rain swept across the front window, "I don't want to be here, I want to be where things make sense like they did five years ago". So I played the song again. And again. Kept punching the damn button over and over. Eventually the rain cleared and the moment was gone and I kept driving, got to the store, bought some very nice wines and drove back. It was probably the best day I ever spent on the road.
That's catharsis for you.
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