The Fabulous Monster was disturbed that our blissful and carefree life together was not providing the sort of artistic inspiration that a poet needs. She suggested I write some more songs. Not long after, I watched Muriel’s Wedding for the first time, and ABBA’s Fernando struck her as eminently filkworthy. Seeking intellectual stimulation at a SUMS rehearsal camp later that weekend, I grabbed some paper and composed this, which won the revue and the eternal wrath of a quarter of the choir.
[September 1999]
Can you hear the pitch, sopranos?
I remember songs of whales that sound an awful lot like this.
The conductor frowns, sopranos.
He was humming to himself and softly praying you would hear.
I could see his waving hands
And plumes of boiling steam were coming from his ears.
There’s a tempo change, sopranos.
Every quaver, every minim seems to drag appallingly.
I was so alarmed, sopranos.
You were loud and full of coffee, none of you are very shy,
And I’m not ashamed to say
The end of Floret Silva almost made me cry
There are markings in the score, you know;
They’re not for show, sopranos.
They were put in there for you and me,
M, F and P, sopranos.
If you never thought this work was hard,
You lost the bet.
Now you have to sing it all again
From start to end, sopranos.
No it isn’t fair, sopranos,
That for many years you haven’t had a song that was rude.
Is it all deserved, sopranos?
Have you wondered at the reason for this frightful attitude?
You can guess it if you try —
It’s cause “soprano” has three syllables, not two!
(Testing:)
Can you hear the pitch, — tenors? (Nope, doesn’t work.)
Can you hear the pitch, — basses? (Naah.)
(And I’m too scared of altos, so…)
There are markings in the score, you know;
They’re not for show, sopranos.
They were put in there for you and me,
M, F and P, sopranos.
If you think you might be driven mad,
Don’t give in yet.
‘Cause there’s someone else who’s twice as pissed:
The soloist soprano!