A Foreign Country is a non-regular series in which I’ll write about music I dug in my youth that I still enjoy now. The name comes from the L.P. Hartley quote “The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there”, because, while I do continue to enjoy some of the music I listened to in my early days, my tastes have changed since then (thank fuck for that) and even the songs I still like are heard through different ears.
While it is a problem that occurs with frustrating regularity that I will find a band with one great song that is followed by a string of disappointments, some of my best album purchases have resulted from taking a chance on one great song. It happened for me with the Jayhawks (“Waiting for the Sun” from Hollywood Town Hall) and Jeff Buckley (“Grace” from the album of the same name), and in 1988, it happened with the Godfathers.
In the farm community where I grew up, about twenty minutes outside of Akron, Ohio, it took some determination to hear new music that was outside of Casey Kasem’s Top 40 or the classic/stoner rock played on WMMS. But if it was a weekday afternoon and the reception was good that day, I could hear a couple of hours of alternative music from the Akron City Schools’ public radio station. Alternative music had a different, decidedly more amorphous definition then, and in a sitting, I would hear the likes of Joy Division, the Smiths, Faith No More (the Chuck Mosley incarnation), the Jesus and Mary Chain, the Lime Spiders, Lords of the New Church, the Bolshoi and To Damascus. And I also heard a song called “Birth, School, Work, Death” by the Godfathers.
On one of the occasions when I successfully whined my mother into taking me to the Westwood Connection, an alternative music shop on the College of Wooster campus, I also successfully pled my case for her to buy me the Godfathers album, also titled Birth, School, Work, Death. I didn’t know anymore about the band then that they were from England, and they seemed a little pissed off. At heart, my circumstances in the late 1980s were worlds away from those of the working class in Thatcher’s Britain, but growing up outside of Akron and Cleveland in the Reagan Era, with a mother who worked in a factory and a father who worked construction, I was close enough to get it. And, being a teenager, I had all sorts of anger and frustration… as manufactured, misplaced and melodramatic as it might have been. It was still enough to feel like the metallic, grinding guitar work, stomping force and spittle-inflected ranting of the Godfathers’ music spoke for me as clearly as it spoke for anyone in industrial Britain. Not that I was considering any of this at the time. I just knew it was loud and angry and good for dancing to up in my bedroom.
I never became a big enough fan to pursue any of the Godfathers’ other albums, but I still occasionally pop in my cassette of BSWD – which is beginning to sound a little woozy after all these years – and I still enjoy the hell out of it and am infected by its energy.
As it usually turns out when I start researching my nostalgia, I’ve learned that the Godfathers reunited in 2008, have been touring, released a live CD/DVD in 2010 and plan to release an album of new material this year.