Papa Don't Preach: 5 Songs on Fatherhood
This week's songs are from Marvin Gaye, Idles, Drive-by Truckers, Hamilton Leithauser, and Bruce Hornsby & the Range
RIP Sly Stone
Sly & the Family Stone’s STAND! was one of maybe 8 CDs I recall my dad owning. It’s a striking album cover, and to a young kid, the name alone— Sly Stone—is evocative. It sounds like a badass cartoon character, or a super hero. Artists like Michael Jackson, Prince, Stevie Wonder, Parliament-Funkadelic, Public Enemy, and Miles Davis looked up to him. Davis once said Stone was “[his] only peer,” and when recording Bitches Brew, he was so obsessed with Stone’s “In Time,” he made his band listen to it repeatedly for 30 minutes before recording.
I haven’t watched the Hulu doc yet, but obviously will be getting to it sooner now. His recent memoir was an interesting read, but only made him out to be more elusive.
Sly & The Family Stone - “Thankful N’ Thoughtful”
Lyrically, this is a straight-up gospel song. Like many African American musicians Sly got his start singing in the church, and here is thanking the lord for another day on Earth. It’s one of those songs where every instrument is playing percussion of some kind. Listening to this it’s impossible to deny how much Prince lifted directly from Sly Stone. That’s no knock on Prince, but rather double-underlines just how far ahead of time Sly & the Family Stone were. We can all be thankful for that.
Fathers rather famously cut an imposing figure in the minds of children. A lot of this likely stems from the “traditional” role as disciplinarian. Renderer of judgement. Moral arbiter. A rock & roll example: Richard Patrick of Filter once got drunk and ran around on an airplane naked. He then wrote a song about it. How does Mr. Badass “Hey Man, Nice Shot” end the song?
Hey Dad, what do you think about your son now?
Musicians tend not to like discipline and rules, so a lot of songs about dads and fatherhood don’t paint the best picture of fathers. Other songs get a bit corny, very quickly. Many more seem designed for daughters to dance with their fathers at their weddings—always cringey, borderline gross, and an obvious cash-grab. Then there is the type where where the singer is full of fatherly wisdom—“father knows best” type shit. Country and Bluegrass songs, assuming they don’t use the God/Father symbolism, usually tell stories of their father’s jobs—preachers, coal miners, farmers—and how that kept them pretty far out of the picture. Only knowing a parent by their profession sounds pretty sad to me. There seems to be no in-between—it’s prodigal sons, maudlin daddy-daughter crap, absentee providers, and raise-em right type songs. Where are all the songs about well-meaning guys who constantly feel like they’re failing? I guess they save that dad for movies.
Here are 5 songs about fatherhood—bad dads, advice, wisdom, and the best song about being a parent I can think of.
Happy Father’s Day.
““Helen: I guess a boy Garry's age really needs a man around.
Tod: Well, it depends on the man. I had a man around. He used to wake me up every morning by flicking lit cigarettes at my head. ‘Hey, asshole, get up and make me breakfast’…You know, Mrs. Buckman, you need a license to buy a dog, or drive a car. Hell, you even need a license to catch a fish. But they'll let any butt-reaming asshole be a father.”
- Parenthood, Ron Howard (1989)
Marvin Gaye - “Piece of Clay”
Marvin Gaye was murdered by his father—maybe not the most uplifting place to start from. But “Piece of Clay” is too good a song, and the lessons it imparts is a reminder to let the kid guide you. Those who have multiple children know this to be true. Within the first two weeks of my second daughter’s life, it was made clear she was different than the first—her needs were different, and therefore I needed to adjust. I’m still finding small adjustments for each kid to be true.
Young Marvin described his father as “an all-cruel, changeable, cruel and all-powerful king,” and suffered horrible abuse. You can feel his sense of anguish in the muffled opening guitar riff. Gaye let’s it linger there for long enough to sting. Known for a sensual, gentle voice, it takes on an entirely different context here as Gaye sings about parents and children. But he presses the issue beyond those relationships—it is anyone who thinks they can shape people in their own image who are wrong.
Children are told
To give not just to take
If we were all children
You know the world will be a better place"
Let them tell you who they are.
“Andrew Clark: And the bizarre thing is that I did it for my old man. I tortured this poor kid because I wanted him to think that I was cool. He's always going off about how when he was in school and all the wild things he used to do. And I got the feeling that he was disappointed that I never cut loose on anyone, right? So I'm sitting in the locker room and I'm taping up my knee, and Larry's undressing a couple lockers down from me. And he's kinda, he's kinda skinny. Weak. And I started thinkin' about my father, and his attitude about, about weakness. And the next thing I knew, I jumped on top of him and started whaling on him. And my friends, they just laughed and cheered me on.”
- The Breakfast Club, John Hughes (1985)
Idles - “Samaritans”
When I was a teenager, and listening to mostly punk music (as one does), anything that had a message was the typical rife with cliches one would expect from the genre (“Anarchy!”, “Fuck the government,” lots of finger pointing and whatnot), all the sloganeering disillusioned young white kids from the suburbs could pin to their jean jackets. Idles pulls in people with that same disposition, but are far more enlightened, broad-minded, well-read and defiantly “woke”. And the music sounds like it’s a bunch of aggro male shit-kicking, but then you listen to the lyrics and find it’s very much the opposite.
“Samaritan” off of 2017’s Joy is an Act of Resistance was inspired by Grayson Perry’s The Descent of Man, which takes on genderism, the traits that define “masculinity,” and all of the consequences that stem from people wearing “masculinity as a mask” (If that’s a lot to take in, you can explore all of it by watching Michael Douglas movies). Over a driving beat, Singer Joe Talbot barks out common phrases we’ve all heard in isolation, likely with no malice behind it. But all together at once, it sounds like marching orders from the world’s harshest dad:
Man up, sit down
Chin up, pipe down
Socks up, don't cry
Drink up, don't whine
’Grow some balls,’ he said
’Grow some balls’
It’s not a voice in one’s head that comes naturally, which is very much to the point being made. It is incumbent on parents—in this case, the father—to shift the idea of masculine-associated characteristics like strength, courage, and resolve. Perry’s book includes a new manifesto of “Men’s Rights” worth quoting in full:
The right to be vulnerable
The right to be weak
The right to be wrong
The right to be intuitive
The right not to know
The right to be uncertain
The right to be flexible
The right not to be ashamed by any of these
It all sounds kind of obvious, doesn’t it? But if you can’t own that last one, it’s really hard to make the other ones work.
“Michael Jr.: Did you like Peter more than me?
Michael Sullivan: No. I loved you both the same.
Michael, Jr.: You were always... different with me.
Michael Sullivan: Was I? I suppose it was because Peter was just such a sweet little boy, you know? And you...you were more like me. And I didn't want you to be.”
- Road to Perdition, Sam Mendes (2002)
Drive-by Truckers - “Outfit”
Jason Isbell wrote “Outfit” at just 24 years old—before he himself was a father—as a member of the Drive-by Truckers. Like “Samaritans,” the lyrics layout a set of rules; however they are not belittling dictates, but rather meant to lift the person up. Isbell has a few “rules” songs (“Cast Iron Skillet”, “Don’t Be Tough”) that offer the do’s-and-don’ts about seemingly small things that build up over time, and amount to integrity and respect for oneself and others. No small things. These traits shouldn’t be taken for granted—they’re learned. It’s almost as if Isbell also read Grayson Perry’s The Descent of Man, and sought his own manifesto, framing it here as a father imparting some wisdom on his son:
So don't let 'em take who you are, boy
And don't try to be who you ain't
And don't let me catch you in Kendale
With a bucket of wealthy man's paint
You want your kids to avoid the mistakes you made, so they can make their own, and find rewards where you found trappings.
“Rev. Maclean: Each one of us here today will at one time in our lives look upon a loved one who is in need and ask the same question: We are willing help, Lord, but what, if anything, is needed? For it is true, we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted. And so it is those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them - we can love completely without complete understanding.”
- A River Runs Through It, Robert Redford (1992)
Hamilton Leithauser - “What Do I Think?”
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: stick around and we’re going to get around to every member of the Walkmen’s solo stuff. From Leithauser’s recently released This Side of the Island, “What Do I Think?” gets so much right about what it’s like being a parent. For starters, there’s the woozy, dizziness at the beginning; the song is trying to figure itself out as it gets started. When I saw Leithauser back in February, as introduced the song, he leaned into the angle about getting older and actually challenging his own assumptions and opinions: “What do I think?” I identify with the impulse—it’s partly why I’m doing this every week. In the lyrics, Leithauser acknowledges that the knee-jerk “kids these days have got it all wrong” is a separate thing. This is about a deeper questioning, not just what you believe, but also what you really know. Kids will test you on that, every day—and not just asking you brilliant questions that make you realize you have a think grasp of basic facts, but also what you are doing and why you’re doing it. If your reasoning can’t get passed two or three “But, whys?” maybe you haven’t really given it much thought. Then there is the third verse:
When the singer burns the torch
No, she will not be ignored
And I love her pain and her pride and her shame
Oh, what do I love now?
What do I love?
As a child faces new experiences, many of them will be new to you as a parent. How they respond to those experiences will shift your understanding of who they are in surprising ways, some that you might not understand, and maybe never will. You can ask “What do I know?” and it’s not one question. Depending on the way you say it, it’s sixteen different questions.
“Mason: So what's the point?
Dad: Of what?
Mason: I don't know, any of this. Everything.
Dad: Everything? What's the point? I mean, I sure as shit don't know. Neither does anybody else, okay? We're all just winging it, you know? The good news is you're feeling stuff. And you've got to hold on to that.”
- Boyhood, Richard Linklater, (2014)
Bruce Hornsby & the Range - “Fields of Gray”
I love Bruce Hornsby. Maybe I watched Backdraft on WGN a few too many times as a kid. More likely, it’s how open his piano playing sounds. It’s so distinct. Like Keith Richards’ guitar, John Bonham’s drums, or Potter Stewart’s obscenity, you know it when you hear it. Every note he plays sounds optimistic. I don’t know anyone who would consider me an optimist. But I lean on art like this to remind me how much better it is to be one.
This is one of those songs that struck a deeper chord during the early, scary days of Covid, and having 2 young kids at the time. I cannot think of a song that so perfectly captures all of the feelings about being a parent—pride, concern, joy, fear, and unconditional love—and reminds you that even the scary stuff is pretty beautiful. Maybe Sturgill Simpson’s “All Around You” comes close, but that’s also more about promises to the kid, rather than how a parent processes all of it—often in moments where it all hits at once.
My oldest was born in the summer of 2016 and I remember saying to my wife at one point, “The year she’s born, the Cubs are going to win the World Series and we’re going to have a female president.” While I was half right, I learned a quick and harsh lesson about how the world is a less certain, often scarier place than we might think. The parental instinct is to shield kids from that fact, which isn’t always the right move. In “Fields of Gray,” Bruce has the wisdom to acknowledge that, for lack of a better way to put it, shit can get pretty fucked up.
No matter what else happens
What the future will be
In a world so uncertain
Through the clouds it's hard to see
I will grab you and lift you
Calm your fears if you're afraid
We'll go walking
Across the fields of gray
You have to instill in them the only certainty you have to offer.
Full playlists of songs featured in 5 Songs:
Right out of college I got a very stooge-y job as the speechwriter for the Chicago Department of Children and Youth Services. My first assignment was to write 2 minutes of welcoming remarks for a Fathers Day pancake breakfast at a Boys and Girls club.
The first lines were from The Odyssey - "Ithaca, it is a hard land but good for raising sons."
On Monday I was told that if I ever started a speech line that again I would be fired immediately
My father reminisced to me about the electric atmosphere of Sly & The Family Stone performing There’s a Riot Goin On in the slightly incongruous setting of Harvard Stadium. RIP.