Labour & Pop Culture: Tillsonburg

Over the holidays, I heard a Stompin’ Tom Connors song called Tillsonburg. Tillsonburg is a town located just southeast of London, Ontario and was once a centre of tobacco production. The song recounts the experience of a worker recruited for field work.

This song shines some light on why Canada continue to operate programs bringing migrant agricultural workers to Canada (now focused more on vegetable and fruit production). Essentially, workers who have options, aren't prepared to work and live in the conditions offered by agricultural operators.

While a way down in Southern Ontario
I never had a nickel or a dime to show
A fella beeped up in an automobile he said "Do you want to work in the tobacco fields of Tillsonburg?" (Tillsonburg x3)
My back still aches when I hear that word

He said "I'll only give you seven bucks a day" but if you're any good you'll get a raise in pay
Your bed's all ready on the bunkhouse floor if it gets a little chilly you can close the door

Tillsonburg (Tillsonburg x3) my back still aches when I hear that word

I'm feelin' in the morning anything but fine
The farmer said "i'm going to teach you how to brane"
He said "You'll have to dawn up a pair of oil skin pants" if you want to work in the tobacco plants of Tillsonburg (Tillsonburg x3)
My back still aches when I hear that word

Well we landed in a field that was long and wide with one whole horse and five more guys
I asked him where to find the cigarette trees
When he said "Bend over" I was ready to leave
Tillsonburg (Tillsonburg x3)
My back still aches when I hear that word

He said to pick just the bottom leaves
Don't start crawlin' on your hands and knees
Prime your load cause you'll get no pay
For standin' there pickin' at your nose all day around Tillsonburg
(Tillsonburg x3)
My back still aches when I hear that word

With a broken back from bendin' over there
I was wet right through to the underwear
And it was stuck to my skin like glue
From the nicotine tar on the morning dew of
Tillsonburg (Tillsonburg x3)
My back still aches when I hear that word

Now the nearest river was two miles from
The place where they was waitin' for the boat to come
When I heard some talk of makin' the kill
I was down the highway and over the hill from
Tillsonburg (Tillsonburg x3)
My back still aches that word

Now there is one thing you can always bet
If I never smoke another cigarette
I might get taken in a lot of deals
But I won't go workin' the tobacco fields of
Tillsonburg (Tillsonburg x2)

My back still aches when I hear that word (x3)

-- Bob Barnetson

Labour & Pop Culture: He thinks he’ll keep her

My wife flagged this 1993 song by Mary Chapin Carpenter as labour related. It traces the journey of a women who, at 36, opts to leave her marriage and role and primary caregiver to re-enter the workforce.

Most of the song chronicles the unpaid, social reproductive labour that the women does. It is interesting to see this work treated so explicitly as both skilled and demanding labour. And yet these skill have little market value when she decides to rejoin the paid workforce. It also nicely tease is out the often hidden power dynamics of one-income marriages.

I’m not a huge fan of the new country era, but the backup singers on this video are are pretty amazing. Trisha Yearwood, Emmylou Harris, and Patty Lovelace, to name a few.

She makes his coffee, she makes his bed
She does the laundry, she keeps him fed
When she was twenty-one she wore her mother's lace
She said, "forever," with a smile upon her face

She does the carpool, she P.T.A.'s
Doctors and dentists, she drives all day
When she was twenty-nine she delivered number three
And ev'ry Christmas card showed a perfect family

Ev'rything runs right on time
Years of practice and design
Spit and polish till it shines, he thinks he'll keep her

Ev'rything is so benign
The safest place you'll ever find
God forbid you change your mind, he thinks he'll keep her

She packs his suitcase, she sits and waits
With no expression upon her face
When she was thirty-six she met him at their door
She said, "I'm sorry, I don't love you any more"

Ev'rything runs right on time
Years of practice and design
Spit and polish till it shines, he thinks he'll keep her

Ev'rything is so benign
The safest place you'll ever find
God forbid you change your mind, he thinks he'll keep her

For fifteen years she had a job and not one raise in pay
Now she's in the typing pool at minimum wage

Ev'rything runs right on time
Years of practice and design
Spit and polish till it shines, he thinks he'll keep her

Ev'rything is so benign
The safest place you'll ever find
At least until you change your mind (he thinks he'll keep her) all right

-- Bob Barnetson

Labour and Pop Culture: The A-Team.

No, not that A Team.

This week we start our first enrollment in LBST 415: Sex Work and Sex Workers. One of the topics that the course touches on is the roll that addictions can play in the decision to engage in sex work.

While there are lots of depictions of sex work in pop culture (e.g., Pretty Woman), a particularly nuanced one is Ed Sheeran’s “The A Team”. The song is about a sex worker (named Angel) who is addicted to cocaine (a class A drug in the UK, hence the A Team) and was living at a homeless shelter when Sheeran met her.

White lips, pale face
Breathing in snowflakes
Burnt lungs, sour taste
Light's gone, day's end
Struggling to pay rent
Long nights, strange men

And they say
She's in the Class A Team
Stuck in her daydream
Been this way since eighteen
But lately her face seems
Slowly sinking, wasting
Crumbling like pastries
And they scream
The worst things in life come free to us
'Cause we're just under the upper hand
And go mad for a couple grams
And she don't want to go outside tonight
And in a pipe she flies to the Motherland
Or sells love to another man
It's too cold outside
For angels to fly
Angels to fly

Ripped gloves, raincoat
Tried to swim and stay afloat
Dry house, wet clothes
Loose change, bank notes
Weary-eyed, dry throat
Call girl, no phone

And they say
She's in the Class A Team
Stuck in her daydream
Been this way since eighteen
But lately her face seems
Slowly sinking, wasting
Crumbling like pastries
And they scream
The worst things in life come free to us
'Cause we're just under the upper hand
And go mad for a couple grams
And she don't want to go outside tonight
And in a pipe she flies to the Motherland
Or sells love to another man
It's too cold outside
For angels to fly
An angel will die
Covered in white
Closed eye
And hoping for a better life
This time, we'll fade out tonight
Straight down the line

And they say
She's in the Class A Team
Stuck in her daydream
Been this way since eighteen
But lately her face seems
Slowly sinking, wasting
Crumbling like pastries
They scream
The worst things in life come free to us
And we're all under the upper hand
Go mad for a couple grams
And we don't want to go outside tonight
And in a pipe we fly to the Motherland
Or sell love to another man
It's too cold outside
For angels to fly
Angels to fly
To fly, fly
For angels to fly, to fly, to fly
For angels to die

-- Bob Barnetson

Labour & Pop Culture: I wish that they'd sack me.

It has been a pretty tough year for Alberta public-sector workers. After two years of wage-freezes under the New Democrats, the newly elected United Conservative Party legislative intervened in collective agreements to stall wage arbitrations and then demanded rollbacks of 2 to 5%. There have also been hiring freezes and more roll backs and layoffs are just around the corner.

This has had a deleterious effect on morale across the public sector. While many people likely shrug, declining morale tends to pre-sage declining effort, growing use of sick time (due to stress), and a slow trickle of departures. This intensifies the stress on those who remain and results in a negative feedback loop.

Chumbawamba’s  "I Wish That They'd Sack Me" pretty much sums up much of the conversation at the holiday parties I attended this year.

Six in the morning don't want to wake
Sun laying low and the world sleeping late
Hate like the river runs heavy and deep
Oh I wish that they'd sack me and leave me to sleep

Five days from seven the week's hardly mine
The alarm clock's gone over to enemy lines
Waste my time working for cowards and creeps
Oh I wish that they'd sack me and leave me to sleep

Rain strikes the window heralds the day
Rain won't you wash these eight hours away?
Rain feeds the river runs heavy and deep
Oh I wish that they'd sack me and leave me to sleep

Birds at my window sing in the dawn
By the time that I'm home all this day will be gone
Spend my life sowing what others will reap
Oh I wish that they'd sack me and leave me to sleep

Rain strikes the window heralds the day
Rain won't you wash these eight hours away?
Rain feeds the river runs heavy and deep
Oh I wish that they'd sack me and leave me to sleep

-- Bob Barnetson

Labour & Pop Culture: Spaceship

This week’s instalment of Labour & Pop Culture is "Spaceship” by Kayne West. This song explores the frustration and desperation of low-wage work, particularly among young African-American men in the United States.

Of particular note is how being systemically discriminated against and economically excluded results in a rejection of the system:

If my manager insults me again I will be assaulting him
After I fuck the manager up then I'm gonna shorten the register up
Let's go back, back to the Gap
Look at my check, wasn't no scratch
So if I stole, wasn't my fault

The song also speaks to the experience of tokenism in the workplace:

Yeah I stole, never get caught
They take me to the back and pat me
Askin' me about some khakis
But let some black people walk in
I bet you they show off their token blackie
Oh now they love Kanye, let's put him all in the front of the store

I couldn’t find a good video by Kayne but I did find this blues-y cover that is pretty good.

[Hook: Kanye West, Tony Williams, John Legend]

I've been workin' this graveshift and I ain't made shit
I wish I could buy me a spaceship and fly (heavens knows) past the sky (every night, every night)
I've been workin' this graveshift and I ain't made shit
I wish I could buy me a spaceship and fly (heavens knows) past the sky (every night, every night)

[Verse 1: Kanye West]
Man, man, man
If my manager insults me again I will be assaulting him
After I fuck the manager up then I'm gonna shorten the register up
Let's go back, back to the Gap
Look at my check, wasn't no scratch
So if I stole, wasn't my fault
Yeah I stole, never get caught
They take me to the back and pat me
Askin' me about some khakis
But let some black people walk in
I bet you they show off their token blackie
Oh now they love Kanye, let's put him all in the front of the store
Saw him on break next to the 'No Smoking' sign with a blunt and a malt
Takin' my hits, writin' my hits
Writin' my rhymes, playin' my mind
This fuckin' job can't help him
So I quit, y'all welcome
(heavens knows)
Y'all don't know my struggle
Y'all can't match my hustle
(every night)
You can't catch my hustle
(every night)
You can't fathom my love dude
Lock yourself in a room doin' five beats a day for three summers
That's a different world like Cree summers
I deserve to do these numbers
The kid that made back [aka running back], (heavens knows)
Deserves that Maybach
So many records in my basement (every night)
I'm just waitin' on my spaceship (every night),
I've been (blaow)

[Hook: Kanye West, Tony Williams, John Legend]
Workin' this graveshift and I ain't made shit
I wish I could buy me a spaceship and fly (heavens knows) past the sky (every night, every night)
I've been workin' this graveshift and I ain't made shit
I wish I could buy me a spaceship and fly(heavens knows) past the sky (every night, every night)

[Verse 2: GLC]
Man, I'm talkin' way past the sky
Let's go, oh
And I didn't even try to work a job
Represent the mob
At the same time thirsty on the grind
Chi state of mind
Lost my mama, lost my mind
My life, my love (heavens knows) that's not mine
Why you ain't signed?
Wasn't my time
Leave me alone, (every night) work for y'all
Half of it's yours, (every night) half of it's mine
Only one to ball
Never one to fall
Gotta get mine
Gotta take mine
Got a tec-9
Reach my prime
Gotta make these haters respect mine
In the mall (heavens knows) 'til 12 when my schedule had said 9
(every night) Puttin' new pants on shelves
Waitin' paitently (every night) I ask myself
Where I wanna go, where I wanna be
Life is much more than runnin' in the streets
Holla at 'ye, hit me with the beat
Put me on my feet
Sound so sweet
Yes (heavens knows) I'm the same ol' G, same goatee
Stayin' low key, nope (every night)
Holla at God Man (every night) why'd you had to take my folks?
Hope to see Freddy G., Yusef G
Love my G, Rolly G
Police watch me smoke my weed, and count my G's
Got a lot of people countin' on me (heavens knows)
And I'm just tryin' to find my peace
(every night) Should of finished school like my niece
Then I wouldn't (every night) finally wouldn't use my piece, blaow
Aw man, all this pressure

[Hook: Kanye West, Tony Williams, John Legend]
I've been workin' this graveshift and I ain't made shit
I wish I could buy me a spaceship and fly (heavens knows) past the sky (every night, every night)
I've been workin' this graveshift and I ain't made shit
I wish I could buy me a spaceship and fly (heavens knows) past the sky (every night, every night)

[Verse 3: Consequence]
I remember havin' to take the dollar cab
Comin' home real late at night
Standin' on my feet all damn day
Tryin' to make this thing right
And havin' (heavens knows) one of my co-workers say Yo you look just like
(every night) This kid I seen in the old Busta Rhymes video (every night) the other night
Well easy come, easy go
How that sayin' goes
No more broad service, cars, and them TV shows
I all had that snatched from me (heavens knows)
And all the faculties all turn their back on me (every night)
And didn't wanna hear a rap from me (every night)
So naturally actually had to face things factually
Had to be a catastrophe with the fridgest starin' back at me
Cuz nothing's there, (heaven knows) nothing's fair
I don't wanna ever go back there
So I won't be takin' (every night) no days off 'til my spaceship takes off (every night)
Blaow

[Hook: Kanye West, Tony Williams, John Legend]
I've been workin' this graveshift and I ain't made shit
I wish I could buy me a spaceship and fly (heavens knows) past the sky (every night, every night)
I've been workin' this graveshift and I ain't made shit
I wish I could buy me a spaceship and fly (heavens knows) past the sky (every night, every night)

[Outro: Tony Williams]
I wanna fly, I wanna fly
I said I want my chariot to pick me up
And take me brother for a ride

(heavens knows)
(every night)
(every night)

-- Bob Barnetson

Labour & Pop Culture: Soup is Good Food

This week’s installment of Labour & Pop Culture is “Soup is Good Food” by the Dead Kennedys. This 1985 songs speaks to the disposability of labour in contemporary capitalism.

We're sorry
But you're no longer needed
Or wanted or even cared about here
Machines can do a better job than you
And this is what you get for asking questions

Recorded in 1985, the song rings true today, particularly with the deskilling or elimination of jobs due to automation. Interestingly, it also examines how government’s manipulate economic data to hide the real state of the world:

We're sorry, you'll just have to leave
Unemployment runs out after just six weeks
How does it feel to be a budget cut?
You're snipped, you no longer exist 

Your number's been purged
From our central computer
So we can rig the facts
And sweep you under the rug
See our chart? Unemployment's going down
If that ruins your life that's your problem

Having been through periods of layoffs in two different jobs (and seeing my own employer recently propose reducing further the notice period for layoffs), this verse rings particularly true:

Now how does it feel
(We don't need you any more)
To be shit out our ass
And thrown in the cold like a piece of trash
(We don't need you any more)

And morale is down, you say?

Apologies for the lack of a video—punks don’t go for that MTV stuff.

We're sorry
But you're no longer needed
Or wanted or even cared about here
Machines can do a better job than you
And this is what you get for asking questions

The unions agree
Sacrifices must be made
Computers never go on strike
To save the working man
You've got to put him out to pasture

Looks like we'll have to let you go
Doesn't it feel fulfilling to know
That you the human being are now obsolete
And there's nothing in hell we'll let you do about it

Soup is good food
(We don't need you any more)
You made a good meal
(We don't need you any more)

Now how does it feel
(We don't need you any more)
To be shit out our ass
And thrown in the cold like a piece of trash

We're sorry, you'll just have to leave
Unemployment runs out after just six weeks
How does it feel to be a budget cut?
You're snipped, you no longer exist

Your number's been purged
From our central computer
So we can rig the facts
And sweep you under the rug
See our chart? Unemployment's going down
If that ruins your life that's your problem

Soup is good food
(We don't need you any more)
You made a good meal
(We don't need you any more)

Now how does it feel
(We don't need you any more)
To be shit out our ass
And thrown in the cold like a piece of trash

We're sorry, we hate to interrupt
But it's against the law to jump off this bridge
You'll just have to kill yourself somewhere else
A tourist might see you and we wouldn't want that

I'm just doing my job, you know, so say uncle
And we'll take you to the mental health zoo
Force feed you mind melting chemicals
Til' even the outside world looks great

In hi-tech science research labs
It costs too much to bury all the dead
The mutilated disease injected
Surplus rats who can't be used anymore

So they're dumped, with no minister present
In a spiraling corkscrew dispose all unit
Ground into sludge and flushed away
Aw geez!

We don't need you any more
We don't need you any more

Soup is good food
(We don't need you any more)
You made a good meal
(We don't need you any more)

Now how does it feel
(We don't need you any more)
To be shit out our ass
And thrown in the cold like a piece of trash
(We don't need you any more)

We know how much you'd like to die
(We don't need you any more)
We joke about it on our coffee breaks
(We don't need you any more)
But we're paid to force you to have a nice day
(We don't need you any more)
In the wonderful world we made just for you

"Poor rats", we human rodents chuckle
At least we get a dignified cremation
At yet, at 6 o'clock tomorrow morning
It's time to get up and go to work

-- Bob Barnetson

Labour & Pop Culture: Out of Work

This week’s installment of Labour & Pop Culture is “Out of Work” by Gary U.S. Bonds. Written by Bruce Springsteen, this song revived Bonds’ career and the lyrics remain surprisingly (and disappointingly) relevant 36 years later.

8 A.M., I'm up and my feet beating on the sidewalk
Down at the unemployment agency, all I get's talk
I check the want ads but there just ain't nobody hiring
What's a man supposed to do when he's down and

Out of work
I need a job, I'm out of work
I'm unemployed, I'm out of work
I need a job, I'm out of work

I go to pick my girl up
Her name is Linda Brown
Her dad invites me in
He tells me to sit down
The small talk that we're making
Is going pretty smooth
But then he drops a bomb
"Son, what d'ya do?"

I'm out of work
I need a job, I'm out of work
I'm unemployed, I'm out of work
I need a job, I'm out of work
Yeah, yeah, yeah

Hey, Mr. President, I know you got your plans
You're doing all you can now to aid the little man
We got to do our best to whip that inflation down
Maybe you got a job for me just driving you around

(I'm out of work)
These tough times, they're enough
To make a man lose his mind
(I'm out of work)
Up there you got a job but down here below

I'm out of work
I need a job, I'm out of work
I'm unemployed, I'm out of work
I need a job, I'm out of work

Ooh, I'm out of work
I'm out of work
I'm out of work
I'm out of work
I'm out of work
I'm out of work
I'm out of work
I'm out of work

-- Bob Barnetson

Labour & Pop Culture: Rain on the Scarecrow

This week’s installment of Labour & Pop Culture is “Rain on the Scarecrow” by John Cougar. I recently watched a really off-putting documentary on John Mellencamp on Netflix (Plain Spoken) and this was one of the songs that played in the background.

It is written from the perspective of a farmer about to lose the family farm due to mounting debt and the cost-price squeeze. Overall, a pretty haunting song about farming as we head into the harvest season.

Scarecrow on a wooden cross blackbird in the barn
Four hundred empty acres that used to be my farm
I grew up like my daddy did my grandpa cleared this land
When I was five I walked the fence while grandpa held my hand

Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
This land fed a nation this land made me proud
And son I'm just sorry there’s no legacy for you now
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow

The crops we grew last summer weren't enough to pay the loans
Couldn't buy the seed to plant this spring and the farmers bank foreclosed
Called my old friend schepman up to auction off the land
He said john its just my job and I hope you understand
Hey calling it your job ol hoss sure dont make it right
But if you want me to Ill say a prayer for your soul tonight

And grandmas on the front porch swing with a
Bible in her hand Sometimes I hear her singing take me to the promised land
When you take away a mans dignity he cant work his fields and cows
There'll be blood on the scarecrow blood on the plow
Blood on the scarecrow blood on the plow

Well there's ninety-seven crosses planted in the courthouse yard
Ninety-seven families who lost ninety-seven farms
I think about my grandpa and my neighbors and my name and some nights
I feel like dying like that scarecrow in the rain

Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
This land fed a nation this land made me so proud
And son I'm just sorry they're just memories for you now
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow

-- Bob Barnetson

Labour & Pop Culture: Minimum Wage Strike

This week’s installment of Labour & Pop Culture is “Minimum Wage Strike” by David Rovics. The song moots what would happen if minimum-wage workers decided to withhold their labour en masse and, in doing so, highlights how prevalent low-wage work has become.

In 2015, about 300,000 of Alberta's 1.8 million non-managerial workers earn $15 an hour or less. That same year, in some US cities (such as Los Angles), half of workers earn less than $15 per hour. Over time, there has been growing momentum to bring the minimum wage up towards a living wage.



Alberta will hit the $15 target this fall. So far, the job losses catastrophized by conservative politicians and business groups have not materialized. This gives credence to supporters’ assertion that higher minimum wages stimulate the economy because they are almost immediately spent on necessities by low-wage workers.

When I awoke one mornin', there was a feelin' in the air
Everything was quiet, things were different everywhere
The Wobblies were back again with Joe Hill at the mic
When all the minimum wage workers went on strike

There was no one pumpin' gasoline, no one drivin' from town to town 

No one at the registers, all the highways were shut down
The cars were stuck in the garage, CEOs on bikes
When all the minimum wage workers went on strike

There was no one flippin' burgers, all the grills were cold
Onion rings were in their bags, fries were growin' mold
There were no baristas at Starbucks askin', "How many shots would you like?"
When all the minimum wage workers went on strike

The fruit was fallin' off the trees, no one to load the truck
Corn was rotting on the stalks, no farmhands to shuck
The Workfare workers were hangin' at home, spendin' the day with their tykes
When all the minimum wage workers went on strike

Yuppie parents were housebound, their nannies left the job
Wal-Mart workers said, "Enough of our labor has been robbed"
The Foot Locker was locked up, the boss had to take a hike
When all the minimum wage workers went on strike

When I awoke one mornin', there was a feelin' in the air
Everything was quiet, things were different everywhere
The Wobblies were back again with T-Bone at the mic
When all the minimum wage workers went on strike,
When all the minimum wage workers went on strike

-- Bob Barnetson

Labour & Pop Culture: Peacock Skeleton with Crooked Feathers

This week’s installment of Labour & Pop Culture is “Peacock Skeleton with Crooked Feathers” by Blood Brothers. It is a bit hard to know what this song is specifically about (it came out in the aftermath of the 2004 US election) beyond the general hypocrisy of the elites.

The most obviously labour-related lyric is this one:

If you strike for better wages at the cola factory
and they drink champagne as they kick in your teeth?
Hey Peacock?
What's that?
I just wanna know what his blood tasted like.
Was it like sugar or vinegar or whiskey or dirt? (It's all those!)
Which peacock is beast? Which peacock is priest?

But there are other examples violence by the powerful (e.g., rising rents, police repression of dissent) and the impact this has regular people. Can’t say I really liked the song (a melody would be nice...) but it is an interesting example of post-hardcore music. Apologies for the lack of a video.

If the sea shakes like an empty maraca
I know I know I know I know
and she falls in love with the sounds of ships sinking?
I know I know I know I know

Which peacock is beast? Which peacock is priest?
If the heavens part and nobody, nowhere, nothing,
every apartment is vacant, every home for rent?
Hey Peacock?
What's that?
I just want to know what your feathers are made out of.
Is it bruises or roses or cradles or coffins? (It's all those!)
Which peacock is beast? Which peacock is priest?
If your friends are all cripple, all wither, all wilt,
I know (x4)
and you smile at their pain on your angel bone stilts.
I know (x4)
Which peacock is beast? Which peacock is priest?

If the brick you throw puts a bullet in your skull
and a police boot lands atop your gaping jaw?
Hey Peacock?
What's that?
I just wanna know what the babies mouth is full of.
Is it flies or cries or straw?
Which peacock is beast? Which peacock is priest?
Which peacock's police? Which peacock is thief?

If machine guns come knock, knock, knocking
Who's cashing out your bad luck?
If wedding bells sound like death knells baby
is a wealthy groom worth all this gloom?
If tuxedos slither off corpses
and copulate wild on wedding cake
and the priest starts snapping photos?
There's a peacock on your shoulder
pole dancing around your neck
while reciting the Book of Revelation.

So who do you love?
Who do you trust when your friends take a match to your front lawn?
A panicked face makes the peacock proud.
So who do you love? Who do you trust?
Who do you kill when your senator drags out your first born?
A panicked face makes the peacock proud.

If the forests turn to static and the gnarled branches, too?
I know (x4)
Your body starts to fall into a concrete tutu?
I know (x4)
which peacock is beast? which peacock is priest?

If you strike for better wages at the cola factory
and they drink champagne as they kick in your teeth?
Hey Peacock?
What's that?
I just wanna know what his blood tasted like.
Was it like sugar or vinegar or whiskey or dirt? (It's all those!)
Which peacock is beast? Which peacock is priest?

If machine guns come knock, knock, knocking
Who's cashing out your bad luck?
If wedding bells sound like death knells baby
is a wealthy groom worth all this gloom?
If tuxedos slither off corpses
and copulate wild on wedding cake
and the priest starts snapping photos?
There's a peacock on your shoulder
pole dancing around your neck
while reciting the Book of Revelation.

Things are never what they seem, the peacocks static melodies.

So who do you love?
Who do you trust when your friends take a match to your front lawn?
A panicked face makes the peacock proud.
So who do you love? Who do you trust?
Who do you kill when your senator drags out your first born?
A panicked face makes the peacock proud.

-- Bob Barnetson

Labour & Pop Culture: Death to my Hometown

This week’s installment of Labour & Pop Culture looks at “Death to my Hometown” by Bruce Springsteen. This Celtic-infused (and very angry) song was part of Springsteen’s 2012 album Wrecking Ball, which examined the impact of the 2008 recession on Americans.

The song's premise is that economic mis-management is a form of violence, with effects analogous to war. He particularly notes that the impersonal nature of the economic system means that it is hard to identify and punish those responsible for economic crimes:

Send the robber barons straight to hell
The greedy thieves who came around
And ate the flesh of everything they found
Whose crimes have gone unpunished now
Who walk the streets as free men now

Protest songs like this one do a nice job of capturing frustration and giving it voice. What this song lacks any sort of call to action (excepting the vague “be ready when they come” and "send them straight to hell") that would change the underlying political economy that allowed this economic violence to be perpetrated on the working class.

Well, no cannon ball did fly, no rifles cut us down
No bombs fell from the sky, no blood soaked the ground
No powder flash blinded the eye
No deathly thunder sounded
But just as sure as the hand of God
They brought death to my hometown
They brought death to my hometown

Now, no shells ripped the evening sky
No cities burning down
No army stormed the shores for which we’d die
No dictators were crowned
I awoke on a quiet night, I never heard a sound
The marauders raided in the dark
And brought death to my hometown
They brought death to my hometown

They destroyed our families, factories
And they took our homes
They left our bodies on the plains
The vultures picked our bones

So, listen up my sonny boy, be ready when they come
For they’ll be returning sure as the rising sun
Now get yourself a song to sing
And sing it ’til you’re done
Sing it hard and sing it well
Send the robber barons straight to hell
The greedy thieves who came around
And ate the flesh of everything they found
Whose crimes have gone unpunished now
Who walk the streets as free men now

They brought death to our hometown, boys
Death to our hometown
Death to our hometown, boys
Death to our hometown

-- Bob Barnetson

Labour & Pop Culture: Paid in Full

This week’s instalment of Labour & Pop Culture returns us to heady days of 1987, when hip-hop was beginning to penetrate mainstream American culture. “Paid in Full” by Eric B and Rakim explains the economics of crime. The song gave its name to a 2002 film about the drug trade in Harlem.

[Eric B]: Yo Rakim, what's up?
[Rakim]: Yo, I'm doing the knowledge, E., I'm trying to get paid in full
[E]: Well, check this out, since Nobry Walters is our agency, right?
[R]: True
[E]: Kara Lewis is our agent
[R]: Word up
[E]: Zakia/4th & Broadway is our record company
[R]: Indeed
[E]: Okay, so who we rollin with?
[R]: We rollin with Rush
[E]: Of Rushtown Management. Check this out, since we talking over
This def beat that I put together, I wanna hear some of them
Def rhymes, know what I'm sayin? And together, we can get
Paid in full...

[Rakim]
Thinkin of a master plan
'cause ain't nuthin but sweat inside my hand
So I dig into my pocket, all my money is spent
So I dig deeper but still comin up with lint
So I start my mission- leave my residence
Thinkin how could I get some dead presidents
I need money, I used to be a stick-up kid
So I think of all the devious things I did
I used to roll up, this is a hold up, ain't nuthin funny
Stop smiling, be still, don't nuthin move but the money
But now I learned to earn cos I'm righteous
I feel great! So maybe I might just
Search for a 9 to 5, if I strive
Then maybe I'll stay alive
So I walk up the street whistlin this
Feelin out of place cos, man, do I miss
A pen and a paper, a stereo, a tape of
Me and Eric B, and a nice big plate of
Fish, which is my favorite dish
But without no money it's still a wish
Cos I don't like to dream about gettin paid
So I dig into the books of the rhymes that I made
To now test to see if I got pull
Hit the studio, cos I'm paid in full

-- Bob Barnetson

Labour & Pop Culture: Private Dancer

This week’s installment of Labour & Pop Culture is “Private Dancer” by Tina Turner. The song is sung from the perspective of a worker in the sex industry. We don’t normally think about sex workers as workers—although they are.

A new course under development at Athabasca is hoping to change that. LBST 4XX (Sex work and sex workers) will examine the sex industry and the experiences of those work in it. While sex work represents one of the most extreme forms of employment, it shares many features with other forms of employment. Specifically, it is a relationship of power wherein one party appropriate the surplus value generated by the other, often employing coercion and externalizing costs in gendered and racialized ways.

The course offers an overview of the sex industry in a variety of theoretical and material contexts, as well as an in-depth focus on prostitution in the Canadian context. Taking “the prostitute” as the stereotype that drives public sex work policy, this course examines the myriad images of and circumstances in which sex work occurs. In addition to reading key texts by scholarly experts on the sex industry, we will hear from sex workers themselves about their jobs, working conditions, and the power dynamics of sex work.

Students will learn to analyze sex work as work through a variety of theoretical lenses, and to identify similarities and differences in legal and policy positions that respond to feminism, queer theory, critiques of neoliberalism and globalization, postcolonial praxis, and progressive legalism. This includes examining how labour policies, such as occupational health and safety policies, affect sex workers, the roles of clients and third parties in the sex industry, and sex workers’ labour organizing.

I’m hopeful this course will open in late 2019.

Well, the men come in these places
And the men are all the same
You don't look at their faces
And you don't ask their names
You don't think of them as human
You don't think of them at all
You keep your mind on the money
Keeping your eyes on the wall

I'm your private dancer
A dancer for money
I'll do what you want me to do
I'm your private dancer
A dancer for money
And any old music will do

I want to make a million dollars
I want to live out by the sea
Have a husband and some children
Yeah, I guess I want a family
All the men come in these places
And the men are all the same
You don't look at their faces
And you don't ask their names

I'm your private dancer
A dancer for money
I'll do what you want me to do
I'm your private dancer
A dancer for money
And any old music will do
I'm your private dancer
A dancer for money
I'll do what you want me to do
Just a private dancer
A dancer for money
And any old music will do

Deutschmarks or dollars
American Express will do nicely, thank you
Let me loosen up your collar
Tell me, do you want to see me do the shimmy again?

I'm your private dancer
A dancer for money
Do what you want me to do
Just a private dancer
A dancer for money
And any old music will do

All the men come in these places
And the men are all the same
You don't look at their faces
And you don't ask their names
You don't think of them as human
You don't think of them at all
You keep your mind on the money
Keeping your eyes on the wall

I'm your private dancer
A dancer for money
I'll do what you want me to do
I'm your private dancer
A dancer for money
And any old music will do
I'm your private dancer
A dancer for money
I'll do what you want me to do
I'm your private dancer
A dancer for money
And any old music will do

I'm your private dancer, a dancer for money
I'm your private dancer, a dancer for money
I'm your private dancer, a dancer for money
Just a private dancer, a dancer for money

-- Bob Barnetson

Labour & Pop Culture: Shackled and Drawn

This week’s installment of Labour & Pop Culture is “Shackled and Drawn” by Bruce Springsteen. This song has a bit of a gospel feel to it and is from Springsteen’s 2012 album Wrecking Ball. The album tells the stories of people whose lives were destroyed by the recession.

You can read the lyrics lots of ways—my first thought was it was about prison labour. But, on reflection, I think it uses being shackled as a metaphor for the debt and limited prospects of the working class.

Gambling man rolls the dice, workingman pays the bill
It’s still fat and easy up on banker’s hill
Up on banker’s hill, the party’s going strong
Down here below we’re shackled and drawn

The live version above seems to stray from the studio version but the content s all there—just re-arranged.

Gray morning light spits through the shade
Another day older, closer to the grave
Closer to the grave and come the dawn
I woke up this morning shackled and drawn

Shackled and drawn, shackled and drawn
Pick up the rock son, carry it on
I’m trudging through the dark in a world gone wrong
I woke up this morning shackled and drawn

I always loved the feel of sweat on my shirt
Stand back son and let a man work
Let a man work, is that so wrong
I woke up this morning shackled and drawn

Shackled and drawn, shackled and drawn
Pick up the rock son, carry it on
What’s a poor boy to do in a world gone wrong
I woke up this morning shackled and drawn

Freedom son’s a dirty shirt
The sun on my face and my shovel in the dirt
A shovel in the dirt keeps the devil gone
I woke up this morning shackled and drawn

Shackled and drawn, shackled and drawn
Pick up the rock son, carry it on
What’s a poor boy to do but keep singing his song
I woke up this morning shackled and drawn

Gambling man rolls the dice, workingman pays the bill
It’s still fat and easy up on banker’s hill
Up on banker’s hill, the party’s going strong
Down here below we’re shackled and drawn

Shackled and drawn, shackled and drawn
Pick up the rock son, carry it on
We’re trudging through the dark in a world gone wrong
I woke up this morning shackled and drawn

Shackled and drawn, shackled and drawn
Pick up the rock son, carry it on
What’s a poor boy to do but keep singing his song
I woke up this morning shackled and drawn

-- Bob Barnetson

Labour & Pop Culture: One More Dollar

This week’s installment of Labour & Pop Culture is “One More Dollar” by Gillian Welch. This is a folksie song about a travelling agricultural worker who picks fruit for a living and sends remittances home to his family.

In Canada, much of the temporary agricultural workforce comprises non-citizens who enter Canada under the Seasonal Agricultural Worker Program (SAWP) from Mexico and Caribbean countries. Others enter in the agricultural worker stream of the temporary foreign worker program.

These workers are subjected to difficult working and living conditions and have few meaningful labour rights, both because of statutory exclusions and because their residency and right of return is tied to their employer’s good will. This 2016 article contains some useful background:

Farm labourers in Ontario, including SAWP migrants, are exempt from labour laws that govern minimum wage, overtime and rest periods. 

"For 50 years, the SAWP has been framed as being used to meet acute labour shortage in periods we need more workers, but it's actually meeting a long-term labour demand," Jenna Hennebry, director of the International Migrant Research Centre at Wilfrid Laurier University, told me. 

Although SAWP workers are entitled to provincial health insurance when they arrive, those who are injured are often "medically repatriated" to their home country. In 2014, the Canadian Medical Association Journal reported that 787 migrant farm workers were medically repatriated between 2001 and 2011.

While the government has made some recent efforts to improve these workers’ living conditions (such as mandatory inspections), that living conditions are so bad as to (finally) trigger mandatory inspections speaks to the exploitation faced by the workers.

A long time ago left my home
For job in the fruit trees
But I miss those hills with the windy pines
Their song seemed to suit me

So I sent my wages to my home
Said, we'd soon be 'gether
For the next good crop, pay my way
And I'd come home forever

One more dime to show for my day
One more dollar and I'm on my way
When I reach those hills, boys, I'll never roam
'Cause one more dollar and I'm going home

No work, said the boss at bunkhouse door
There's freeze on the branches
So when the dice came out at bar downtown
I rolled and took my chances

One more dime to show for my day
One more dollar and I'm on my way
When I reach those hills, boys, I'll never roam
'Cause one more dollar and I'm going home

A long time ago left my home
Just a boy passing twenty
Could you spare a coin and a Christian prayer
My luck has turned against me

One more dime to show for my day
One more dollar and I'm on my way
When I reach those hills, boys, I'll never roam
Just one more dollar and I'm going home

One more dollar, boys, I'm going home

-- Bob Barnetson

Labour & Pop Culture: Welcome to the Boomtown

This week’s installment of Labour & Pop Culture is “Welcome to the Boomtown” by David & David. The song recounts the mid-80s excess found in Los Angeles and how a boomtown plays out for the rich and for the poor.

Alberta is no stranger to booms and busts and there is interesting research going on about how this affects labour. For example, foreign live-in caregivers (more commonly known as “nannies”) play an important role in the economy of Fort McMurray. Their often-grueling conditions of work allow their employers to meet the demands of their own employers.

Sara Dorow (from the U of A) and her colleagues have been studying this phenomenon. They note that the boom entails a cascading of social reproductive costs onto this vulnerable group. That is to say, the oil sands couldn’t function without these almost invisible workers managing home and hearth issues for workers. Yet these workers are often treated as disposable.

With the boom also comes the bust. Since 2014, Alberta has struggled economically. It appears that the worst of this recession is passing but the recovery is uneven.

For example, in a recent CBC article, U of C economist Trevor Tombe notes that the economic recovery Alberta is experiencing is evident in employment rates (which are bouncing back up. But as Tombe’s graph (below) shows, young men appear to be excluded from this recovery.

This pattern is understandable given that, in the past, young men could secure well paying jobs in the oil patch with not much more than a strong back. This employment strategy appears to no longer be as effective as it once was. One solution is to provide displaced workers with opportunities to return to school.



Ms. Cristina drives a 944
Satisfaction oozes from her pores
She keeps rings on her fingers

Marble on her floor, cocaine on her dresser
Bars on her doors, she keeps her back against the wall
She keeps her back against the wall

So I say, I say welcome, welcome to the Boomtown
Pick a habit, we got plenty to go around
Welcome, welcome to the Boomtown
All that money makes such a succulent sound
Welcome to the Boomtown

Handsome Kevin got a little off track
Took a year off of college and he never went back
Now he smokes too much, he's got a permanent hack

Deals dope out of Denny's, keeps a table in the back
He always listens to the ground
Always listens to the ground

So I say, I say welcome, welcome to the Boomtown
Pick a habit, we got plenty to go around
Welcome, welcome to the Boomtown
All that money makes such a succulent sound
Welcome to the Boomtown

Well, the ambulance arrived too late
I guess, she didn't want to wait

-- Bob Barnetson

Labour & Pop Culture: Westray Mine

This week’s installment of Labour & Pop Culture looks at the songs of the Westray Mine explosion that killed 26 workers on May 9, 1992. These deaths represent a clear instance of an employer trading workers’ health and lives for profit.



The root cause of the explosion was the mine owners operating the mine in an unsafe manner. The Government of Nova Scotia also failed to enforce its own safety laws effectively. While the deaths of these miners resulted in amendments to the Criminal Code to allow for prosecutions, few governments have done so.

There are literally dozens of songs about the Westray deaths. Ronnie McEwan’s “The Westray Mine Song” has a nice celtic-country vibe to it.



-- Bob Barnetson

Labour & Pop Culture: On the Turning Away

This week’s installment of Labour & Pop Culture is “On the Turning Away” by Pink Floyd. (You can watch the Pink Floyd version here). I picked this song because I though the sensibility of the song (if not its exact lyrics) speak to a troubling dynamic that has emerged in Alberta labour politics since the election of the New Democrats in 2015.



Specifically, there has been a collective decision among most labour leaders that the NDs (no matter hard they are presently driving towards the centre in the hope of getting re-elected) are likely going to better for workers than would a Jason Kenney government. This is most likely correct.

The result has been a mostly cooperative approach towards the New Democrats in an effort to avoid the divisiveness that helped to sink Bob Rae’s NDP government in Ontario in the early 1990s. Like any strategy, this approach entails trade offs.

Last weekend’s Day of Mourning for workers who have been killed, injured, or made ill by their jobs illustrated one trade off. The Day of Mourning (borrowing a slogan developed by labour activist Mary Harris “Mother” Jones) demands that we mourn for the dead and fight like hell for the living. A review of labour’s messaging around the Day of Mourning suggests that it is tempering its fight for the living (at least in public) in order to provide political support for the NDs.

During the (seemingly endless) years when the Tories were in government, Day of Mourning press releases issued by the Alberta Federation of Labour typically decried increasing fatality levels, ineffective government enforcement efforts, and the unjust exclusion of certain occupations from basic OHS rules. This reflected that the Tories basically didn’t enforce OHS laws and employers traded workers’ health for profits.

Since the election of the NDP, there has been a marked and increasing shift in the Day of Mourning messaging towards praising the ND’s efforts on injury prevention. In 2016, while noting that workers’ safety shouldn’t be sacrificed due to short-term economic recession, the AFL praised the new government’s commitment to modernize OHS laws:

"We are glad that Alberta’s new government is following through on their promises to modernize these laws,” Vipond said. “Robust, inclusive, and nuanced legislation will help ensure that workers’ rights are respected, that they are able to access WCB when they need to, and that they get back to work safely and in good health.”

In 2017, the AFL press release praised the government for making plans to use the Westray amendments to the Criminal Code to prosecute employers.

“We’ve been saying for years that sometimes fines aren’t enough,” said AFL president Gil McGowan. “If we really want to make sure workplace safety gets the kind of priority it deserves, employers and managers have to know they could go to jail if their decisions or negligence result in serious injuries or fatalities. The prospect of real, personal consequences will ensure that employers don’t treat the health and safety of their workers lightly.”

This year, the AFL’s press release congratulated the government on delivering legislative changes to OHS and WCB:

As hundreds of workers gather to remember those killed, injured, or made ill as a result of workplace incidents on the International Day of Mourning, workers also celebrate changes made by the Government of Alberta that will mean a safer future for Alberta workers.

Three paragraphs follow that outline and gently praise the changes set out in Bill 30.

On the one hand, publicly praising politicians for enacting better laws around injury prevention makes sense—both in terms of getting future changes made and in re-electing the most pro-worker government Alberta is likely to see. The presser is also way for the AFL to obliquely claim an important victory that it has worked hard to achieve.

On the other, I wonder if praising the government is the best way to use this once-per-year spotlight on workplace injury? Alberta has improved the content of its OHS laws. Yet there has been almost no progress on enforcing those laws (which, the research tells us, is what actually affects employer behaviour).

Specifically, there are still relatively few workplace inspections each year. There are almost no sanctions imposed on employers for breaking the law. And, as far as I know, Alberta has yet to prosecute any employers under the Criminal Code.

Not surprisingly, workplace injury and fatality rates are relatively static: at least 166 Alberta workers died from work last year and tens of thousands were seriously injured.

Alberta’s labour movement could have used the last three Days of Mourning to push the government to fund better enforcement. Even better enforcement of the old laws would have been a huge win for workers. And yet, 75% of the way though the ND’s mandate, we’ve not seen any major improvements in OHS enforcement.

Certainly the new laws are praiseworthy. But they are not enough—they require aggressive enforcement to be meaningful. While praising the government achieves labour’s electoral objectives, the workers who will be killed or injured on the job this coming year (and their families) would likely have been better served by demanding more enforcement.

-- Bob Barnetson

Labour & Pop Culture: American Pie

This week’s installment of Labour & Pop Culture looks at “American Pie” by Don MacLean. This song is among the most famous of pop songs and is a timely choice, given that tomorrow is the Day of Mourning for workers killed on the job.

The song features a 1959 plane crash that killed musicians Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and The Big Bopper (hence, the day the music died). More broadly, the song is about McLean’s sense (in 1971) that America had taken a turn in the wrong direction.



For those not keen on listening to ‘70s singer-sing writer, may I suggest Weird Al’s Star Wars parody, which anticipated the plot of The Phantom Menace?



A long, long time ago
I can still remember how that music used to make me smile
And, I knew if I had my chance that I could make those people dance, and...
Maybe they'd be happy for a while
But, February made me shiver with every paper I'd deliver
Bad news on the doorstep - I couldn't take one more step
I can't remember if I cried when I read about his widowed bride
Something touched me deep inside the day the music died

So, bye bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry
Them good ol' boys were drinking whiskey and rye, singing...
This'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die

Did you write the Book of Love and do you have faith in God, above?
If the Bible tells you so
Now, do you believe in Rock and Roll? Can music save your mortal soul? And...
Can you teach me how to dance real slow?
Well, I know that you're in love with him, 'cause I saw you dancing in the gym
You both kicked off your shoes - man, I dig those rhythm and blues
I was a lonely, teenage broncin' buck with a pink carnation and a pickup truck, but...
I knew I was out of luck the day the music died

I started singing, bye bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry
Them good ol' boys were drinking whiskey and rye, singing...
This'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die

Now, for ten years we've been on our own and moss grows fat on a Rolling Stone, but...
That's not how it used to be
When the Jester sang for the king and queen in a coat he borrowed from James Dean
In a voice that came from you and me
Oh, and while the King was looking down the Jester stole his thorny crown
The courtroom was adjourned - no verdict was returned
And, while Lennon read a book on Marx the quartet practiced in the park, and...
We sang dirges in the dark the day the music died

We were singing, bye bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry
Them good ol' boys were drinking whiskey and rye, singing...
This'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die

Healter Skealter in the summer swelter - the Birds flew off with a fallout shelter
Eight Miles High and falling fast
It landed foul on the grass
The players tried for a forward pass with the Jester on the sidelines in a cast
Now, the halftime air was sweet perfume while the Sergeants played a marching tune
We all got up to dance, oh, but we never got the chance
'Cause the players tried to take the field - the marching band refused to yield
Do you recall what was revealed the day the music died?

We started singing, bye bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry
Them good ol' boys were drinking whiskey and rye, singing...
This'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die

And, there we were, all in one place - a generation Lost in Space
With no time left to start again
So, come on, Jack be nimble, Jack be quick - Jack Flash sat on a Candlestick, 'cause...
Fire is the Devil's only friend
And, as I watched him on the stage my hands were clenched in fists of rage
No angel born in Hell could break that satan's spell
And, as the flames climbed high into the night to light the sacrificial rite, I saw...
Satan laughing with delight the day the music died

He was singing, bye bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry
Them good ol' boys were drinking whiskey and rye, singing...
This'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die

I met a girl who sang the Blues, and I asked her for some happy news
She just smiled and turned away
I went down to the sacred store where I'd heard the music years before, but...
The man there said the music wouldn't play
And, in the streets the children screamed, the lover's cried, and the poets dreamed, but...
Not a word was spoken - the church bells all were broken
And, the three men I admire most: the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost, they...
Caught the last train for the coast the day the music died

And, they were singing, bye bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry
Them good ol' boys were drinking whiskey and rye, singing...
This'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die

They were singing, bye bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry
Them good ol' boys were drinking whiskey and rye, singing...
This'll be the day that I die

-- Bob Barnetson

Labour & Pop Culture: Night Shift

This week’s installment of Labour & Pop Culture is “Night Shift” by Bob Marley and the Wailers. The song explores Marley’s experiences in Delaware after his mother re-married and moved there from Jamaica.

Marley worked at the Chrysler Assembly plant in Newark before hitting it big as a musician. I don’t see a lot of hidden meaning in the song: its just recounts the repetitive nature of working nights driving a forklift in the parts plant.



The sun shall not smite I by day,
Nor the moon by night;
And everything that I do
Shall be upfull and right.
And if it's all night,
It got to be all right!
If it's all night,
Got to be all right!

Your mamma won't lose this one;
You're the lucky one under the sun.
If you make me move,
Then you know you got the groove:
All night, it's all right!
All night, yeah! It's all right!

Working on a forklift
In the night shift;
Working on a night shift,
With the forklift,
from A.M. (Did you say that? Why did you say that?)
to P.M. (Working all night!)
Working on a night shift, yeah!
(Did you say that? Why did you say that? Upfull and right!)
Well, if it's (all night!) - if it's (all right!)
all night (all night!) -

Warehouse (all right!),
You're empty, yeah!
Go around the corner,
Bring your goods!
Go around the other corner,
Bring your suitcases. (All night!)
By the sweat of my brow, (All right!)
Eat your bread! (All night!)
By the sweat of my brow, (All right!)
Eat your bread!

All night (all night)! All right (all right)!
All night (all night)! All right (all right)!
Oh, yeah! (moon by night)
Why did you say that? Oh, yeah! (Upfull and right!)
Working on a night shift
With the forklift. (Moon by night!)
Working on the night shift,
Oh, yeah! (Upfull and right!) [fadeout]

-- Bob Barnetson