The Bride's Dad

“Oh, I love a good wedding I do.”

A giddy aunt usually says this during a successful raid of the buffet cart.  I too, like a giddy aunt, love a good wedding.  I don’t care whether the venue is a church, hotel, beach or wrestling ring (I’ve seen episodes of Don’t Tell The Bride), it doesn’t matter; it’s the symbolism that counts. In a country of buttoned-up repression, it’s the one time us Brits can show our emotions. Whether it be the participants declaring their love or the congregation witnessing it, the wedding day consolidates all our annual feelings into one affordable payment (£50 in the card. Less if you’re only invited to the reception). 

Without the wedding day, there would be no outlet for British emotion, no reservoir for our tears to go; in time, the surfeit of tears would break their banks causing mass flooding in workplaces, shopping centres and gymnasiums across the country. Social commentators would ask: how did this mass ‘breakdown’ sweep our nation? How in Britain, a nation famed for its emotional restraint, is there a pandemic of tears? The answer would lie in the dearth of wedding ceremonies. The Church believes people should get married to have their union ratified by God; I would argue that people should get married so their friends and family have a safe place where they can be happy and cry; if people don’t tie the knot, because they deem the whole thing to be an antiquated ritual akin to a Viking funeral, then it won’t be long before we have lots of Michael Douglas’ running down the street tooting their AKs shouting, 'the world doesn't listen!'

Without weddings, this would happen.

Other than the therapeutic benefits a wedding day brings, it also provides people with a chance to shine. Personally, I’m someone who shouldn’t be the centre of attention: as someone who has done stand-up and is currently a teacher I’ve already tasted the celebrity lifestyle: on ratemyteacher.com I’ve been trolled by students; once in a branch of Costa Coffee a former student papped me and my current flame as we drank coffee; I’ve also been asked for my autograph (passport forms come with the territory when you’re a teacher). For lesser mortals that haven’t experienced the wonders of celebrity, the wedding day can give you a taste of stardom. 

My favourite part of a wedding is the speeches. Despite being like an episode of Mock the Week where only the men get to the mic, I’m always moved by this part of the day. Seeing someone shy and hesitant, unused to public speaking, stand up and deliver a tribute is profoundly moving. Those of us used to delivering presentations can’t appreciate the discomfort others experience in this maelstrom; the satisfaction that the couple feels hearing the speech and the pride the speaker feels afterwards is worth the price of the wedding gift alone.

Killing it.

The reason I talk about wedding speeches is because it is the subject on Hamilton Leithauser and Rostam’s debut album, I Had A Dream That You Were Mine. Leithauser is lead singer for indie band The Walkmen, whereas Rostam Batmanglij is essentially the sound of Vampire Weekend, providing production and instrumentation. With The Walkmen on a break and Rostam walking out on Weekend, the two have hooked up to form 2016’s most romantic record. (This statement is fraught with hyperbole. I’ve only listened to five records this year. I have no idea really if this was the most romantic one. It’s just people believe you more if you’re emphatic. I didn’t become a cultural tastemaker by saying words like ‘might’ or ‘could.’ My repute lies in ‘should,’ ‘is’ and ‘must.’)

Rostam and Leithauser.

I won’t be talking about the whole record in this blog because I’m hungover, and because I don’t know enough about music to talk intelligently about it. As a child the only instrument I ever played was a recorder; an auditory ordeal that led to my mum calling the police, which in turn led to the musical assault charge I'm trying to work off. What I will do instead is talking about a single song, The Bride’s Dad – a work of breathtaking beauty.

Maybe because I’m an English teacher, I enjoy narrative. I’m not very good at anything that feels discursive or impressionistic. In whatever I watch, read or listen to, I look for meaning. I don’t want something too mysterious; something too impenetrable for me to get my claws into. I want to get a grip of the thing, pull at it, dissect it, right down to the innards. I like songwriters that I can connect with: Dylan, Cocker, Morrissey- artists who eschew the elliptical, whilst maintaing the poetical.

The Bride’s Dad is a piece of wonder. It tells the story of the father’s wedding speech: something that should be customary and commonplace, however, is turned into a two-minute psychodrama, wrought by wondrous melody and lyricism.

It begins with Hamilton intoning:

My ginger voice was raw with smoke

They hid their smiles when I stood and spoke.

Immediately, the song establishes how the father doesn’t feel welcome. The convivial atmosphere has soured as he takes the stand. But why does he feel like he’s on trial?

Some sunny lawn, some Saturday

My face was flushed when I went to sing.  

The ‘some’ suggests why the speaker is seen as intruder as opposed to a father. Even though it’s his daughter’s wedding, he isn’t clear on dates and location. Everything about your daughter’s wedding should be etched into your consciousness yet his thinking is muddled. The defendant’s flushed face could indicate nervousness, but more likely suggests drunkenness – the pallor of the inebriate.

Wild Mountain Thyme,

But I was crying before the second line.

With the congregations’ eyes forming a noose around his head, this jailbird doesn’t give a speech; instead he sings an old Scottish folk song. By the second line though he is teary-eyed, overcome by the power of music – maybe a lullaby he once sung for his daughter.

The strawberry stripes across

My ruddy cheeks got em giggling

My eyes were red and wild and wide

As I choked up over another line.

He may have turned up to the wedding to fulfil his duty as ‘loving father’ but the man is guilty of dereliction. All he needed to do was get his act together for one day, to deliver a Polonius speech from father to child on how to live, on how to behave, instead he is playing an all together different part- Falstaff, the embarrassing drunk.

For years and years I disappeared

But tonight I’m here and giving my best

It’s all I have, the grandkids laugh.

Aware he has failed his daughter, he knows this speech is an opportunity to make amends. For all the years of neglect, today he stands beside her. The speech needs to do more than confer niceties; it needs to be powerful enough to serve as confession, apology, eulogy and promise: booze-sodden, he isn’t up to the task.

My linen vest is yellow stained

My teeth are chipped and my beard is gray.

The juxtaposition of the pristine ‘linen’ alongside the father’s degraded form is stark. The teeth stink tobacco; the teeth show fall; and the beard signals how you can't live hard and keep your colour intact.

Your mother left, she’s not impressed

The wedding guests are starting to get restless

And I think I’ve worn out my welcome.

The jury has reached their verdict and the foreman has delivered the ‘guilty’ sentence by walking out. Ironically, a folk song has divided the gallery, leaving our protagonist contemplating his fate.

But wait. There is a pause. The drum kicks. The vocal rasps. Defiance forms. One final cry from the man in the dock.

But I swear I caught your smile

From the corner of my eye

When they threw me off the stage

Oh I know I caught you smiling

I swear I saw you smile.

Was everyone in the gallery against the defendant or did he have the support of the person he desired most – his daughter? The repetition of ‘smile’ though seems more and more like the last roll of the lunatic. On a day when she wanted a normal father, why would she smile at this shambling shower? Is it a rueful smile – a “I knew I shouldn’t have trusted him?” Was the smile just a hallucination of the father’s hope that all wasn't lost? Or was it what we the listener hopes: a sign that his daughter recognised the effort, that the execution didn’t matter – he came and tried, that’s what’s important.

When they carried me away

Through the center of the crowd

From the corner of my eye.

There is no dignity in the defendant’s exit. He hasn’t been able to shuffle out of this kangaroo court quietly. Instead, a parade of the man’s demise is made by the mob leading him out through the middle. The avuncular father of the bride archetype has met the same end as a failed dictator.

Oh I swear I saw you smiling

You’ll always be my darling

(Pause)

sweetheart.

I love the lyrics of Morrissey for their romanticism. Within his writing he uses terms of endearment like ‘honey-pie,’ ‘charmer,’ ‘sweetness.’ The pay-off of ‘sweetheart,’ therefore, is magic to my ears. The father’s behaviour has been ugly but he achieves redemption- from the listener at least- in the beauty of his intentions.

What a song!

Brides' Dad is on I Had A Dream That You Were Mine by Leithauser and Rostam