An occasional writer's journal

It was my Argentine friend Matildo who convinced me that the muse of rock and roll doesn’t visit the native British English singer and songwriter as readily as the talented foreigner hungry to master that very language of rock.

Despite his lack of fluency when speaking and listening to English as a second language, Matildo behind a microphone is free of the shackles of grammar and lexis that bind the native speaker. He connects directly with his own music, using English as no more than a vehicle by which to propel a sometimes abstract pattern of sounds.

Matildo, of Matilda Sister

He once asked for my help in polishing up his pronunciation when feeling self-conscious about his inability to mimic the accepted phrasing of the native English singer. And there’s something endearing about the efforts of foreigners to get to grips with the finer points of modern English: contractions, dropped consonants and the like.

The Rolling Stones challenged me, as a schoolboy with aspirations of rock stardom, to play and replay every song on each of their emerging albums just to try to decifer what the hell Mick Jagger was actually singing. I have since been fascinated by that white trash corruption of our language that lends itself perfectly to rock. Yet few Brits can get away with this without exploiting their own regionality — think The Beatles or Oasis — as its own mode of expression.

To listen to Brian Ferry on Love is the Drug, belting out “tain’t no big thing” in the studio and then reverting to RP (received pronunciation) in interviews, has always struck me as funny. This is a performer with perfect command of a non-regional English that is understood the world over, yet who chooses to abandon the rules of grammar for reasons of style and aesthetic. Just as the language of love is said to be better left to the latino, the English language seems to require some exotic influence if it is to appeal to the senses of those of us who feel desensitised by having listened to English all their lives, at home and in public, at work and at play.

For Robert Smith of The Cure, the simplest of lyrics become profoundly moving when sung in the manner of a weeping schoolboy. An artist less genuinely sensitive would be accused of gimmickry. Madonna today cannot avoid adopting the vowel pattern of the latin dance diva, influenced paradoxically by younger singers inspired by her own fame. This is common with artists whose creative output is limited by the scope of their texts. They must seek to interpret the hit formula they are prescribed and salvage some originality by doctoring the language itself.

My amigito Matildo, known in Buenos Aires as the creative force behind the metamorphic group Matilda Sister, could sing a phrase of five words repeatedly for an hour and I’d still be listening to his combination of Spanish vowel sounds and Jesus and Mary Chain angst. If I tried to do the same in English, I’d bore myself to sleep.

To appreciate your own language, you need to share it widely, and be aware of its creative power in the hands of others not limited by the conventions of daily usage. Matildo chooses to sing in English because he knows it kicks more ass than Spanish when applied to the blues. The result is a revelation… IMHO!

Enjoy the video clip of My Head by Matilda Sister… viva la diferencia!