Last night I sank into a nostalgic haze while listening to some music that appealed to me when I was growing up: These Were Our Songs: The Early 
60’s.
The lyrics seem preposterously naive by today’s standards, of course. For example:
You come on like a dream, peaches and cream,
lips like strawberry wine:
you’re sixteen, you’re beautiful and you’re mine.You’re all ribbons and curls, ooh what a girl,
eyes that sparkle and shine:
you’re sixteen, you’re beautiful and you’re mine.
But, as a callow youth, listening to this did manage to sum up what seemed at the time to be the profound attachment I felt towards my fifteen year-old girlfriend. Alas, it turned out not to be true love, so my romantic gushing was soon to be transferred to her replacement.
Unfortunately, for the last 20 years or so, popular music has laboured mightily to dispel the sentimentality of its progenitor: romantic pretension has been expunged by a crass unrelenting assault on the sensibilities:
Your bark was loud, but your bite wasn’t vicious,
And them rhymes you were kickin were quite bootylicious,
You get with Doggy Dogg oh is he crazy?
With ya mama and your daddy hollin’ Bay-Bee,
So won’t they let you know,
That is you fuck with dre nigga you’re fuckin wit Death Row,
And I ain’t even slangin them thangs,
I’m hollin one-eight-seven with my dick in yo mouth, beotch
Which, I have on good authority, could be roughly translated into the slightly less obtuse, but no less revolting:
You talk a lot but you can’t back it up,
You can’t rap well,
You must be crazy to try and mess with me,
I will kill you. Your mum and dad will be crying at your funeral,
If you mess with Dr. Dre you are messing with every rapper on our record label.
I don’t sell drugs, I will yell murder as you perform oral sex on me. Bitch.
If that wasn’t bad enough, here is Me So Horny from 2 Live Crew:
It’s true, you were a virgin until you met me
I was the first to make you hot and wettywetty
You tell your parents that we’re goin’ out
Never to the movies, just straight to my house
You said it yourself, you like it like I do
Put your lips on my dick, and suck my asshole too
I’m a freak in heat, a dog without warning
My appetite is sex, ’cause me so horny.
Romantic illusions have been replaced with pornographic illusions.
Take me back to the ’60s.
This subject came up on a friend’s Facebook posting. Compare what we have today, for example, with this:
I subscribe to a music downloading service and have downloaded over 1000 songs in the past few months. Some were from the 60s, but the majority were released in the past couple of years by indie bands. I suspect you’ve probably never heard of most of them, but, IMHO, there is a wealth of excellent new stuff out there – both in terms of words and music. As you’ve pointed out, there is also a lot of cr*p; as there was in the 60s.
In 1960 the lyrics I quoted could and probably would have been prosecuted under Britain’s or the US’s obscenity law.
In the UK in 1960, Lady Chatterley’s Lover was the first literary test case and, since it was successful – in that it was deemed not obscene – various other publications followed.
Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer was tried on obscenity charges in the US in the early ’60s.
So, no, song lyrics of the sort I quoted were not in circulation in the ’60s.
I really don’t think that was his point.
I am eagerly anticipating point clarification.
When I was growing up in the 60s, I remember my mother often commenting that most of the music on the radio was from the pit of hell. I guess that music is now from heaven and music from the 2000s is from the pit of hell?
Do I detect a little old fogeyitis in this thread? 😉
It’s not inconceivable.
Actually, in keeping with my old fogey status, I mostly listen to classical music these days. I’m currently working my way through Karl Richter’s interpretation of Bach’s cantatas, which a friend kindly bought me for playing at her wedding.
Although today, while walking the dog, I listened to Handel’s 8 suites for harpsichord played by Scott Ross.
Neither Bach nor Handel can compare to modern indie bands, of course – a fact for which I am profoundly thankful.
Try it; you might like it. I try to compare music within genres myself. We’ve got lots of classical CDs around the house too – but I haven’t downloaded any classical MP3s.
Music never sounded better than when poured through an old Zenith transistor radio during the endless summer of 1962. It is impossible to recapture except in my memories.
There was this one by the Box Tops
Sweet cream ladies, forward march
The world owes you a living
Sweet cream ladies, do your part
Think of what you’re giving
To the lost and lonely
People of the night
Out of need, they seek
Direction from the light
They will love you in the darkness
Take advantage of your starkness
And refuse to recognize you
In the light
Sweet cream ladies, forward march
Think what you’re providing
Sweet cream ladies, show your starch
What’s the use in hiding
Tell the socialites to
Look the other way
It’s instinctive stimulation
You convey
It’s a necessary function
And for those without compunction
Who get tired of vanilla everyday
Sweet cream ladies, forward march
Puritans ignore them
Sweet cream ladies do their part
Sweet cream men adore them
Let them satisfy
Log on to Top40db.
The ego of the male
Let them fabricate success
To those who fail
And should penalties pursue them
When there’s really credit due them
They might keep a
Simple fellow out of jail
Sweet cream ladies, forward march
Sweet cream ladies, forward march
Sweet cream ladies, forward march…