Swifter, Higher, Stronger

Olympic boxing in Ancient Greece was performed by naked men wearing leather gloves weighted with metal. No rules existed for punching a man on the ground, although killing one’s opponent was counterproductive — if you died, you won. As athletes evolved, the competitive environment adjusted accordingly. By 1956, Soviet and Hungarian athletes were boxing in the pool for the water polo championship and by 1976, East German distance swimmers had switched to a diet of pure anabolic steroids. When the women were questioned on their suspiciously deep voices, one coach snapped: “We came here to swim, not sing.”

The Allen Jokers, on the other hand, came here to sing. I knew it the day I moved to Le Chateau and heard Andrew Plumley rehearsing that sweet modulating croon, but I didn’t realize their ambition was to immortalize an entire generation of Middlebury students in song and verse. In a way, they did — try, I mean, for results vary. Where the Jokers succeed, they suss out behavioral patterns we’re not always aware are common, like haunting the print release station until a desirable biddy enters our seduction radius; and when they fail, they do so because they forget to strip ordinary lyrical filler and crude college stereotypes down to the particulars that make us unique.

The “Midd Kid” rap’s fundamental weakness is organizational: everyone who contributed to the song is part of the same clique. While our college’s tiny size allows us to relate more easily to the Jokers’ commentary, the fact that they huddle together socially gives some of the product an uninformed feel, too distant and superficial to fully entertain. Take, for a perfect example, this couplet, “It’s The Mill, yo, and that’s what I told ya/’Cause here we all G’s throwin’ free granola.” Not only is it an awful rhyme, there are also agricultural products more readily associated with The Mill than granola. But then the follow-up is gold: “I’m checkin’ out the honeys and I spy me a winner/ she got Carhart overalls, stained with dinner.” Obviously, the Jokers spend more time ogling Mill-women at the dining hall than they do at their social house, which directly affects the quality of their lyrics. Likewise, their powers of observation are at fault in this fashion statement: “When I work I wear my Sunday best/ tight ripped jeans and corduroy vest.” Overdressing is not a typical Middlebury phenomenon, unless by overdressing they mean luxury fleece.

The same problems recur on a greater scale in Midd Kid’s reprise, LaxBro. When you read the typed-up lyrics on MiddBlog, it says “-Key change- (Lax Bro chorus)” but really it sounds like the same song picks up after the intermission. It also sounds like an unsuccessful attempt to distinguish one group of bros from another. Light beer in Solo cups, Polo shirts, Beirut and indiscriminate sex are attributes of anything worth Public Safety’s attention, so why should we give the lacrosse team credit for our drinking culture? And even if we do, the verse loses on being a virtual pastiche: while there isn’t a single specific detail pertaining to our obscure but legendarily wealthy student-athletes, the Smirnoff Tea Partay is conjured up with all the shortcomings of being filmed on campus, which is a shame because the “Midd Kid” rap is brilliant by comparison. Of course, if the Jokers are using musical form to manipulate lyrical content, suggesting we’re all hypocrites for making fun of each other, then hats off to them, because they’re right.

Contrary to what some might assume, I’m a fan of the new anthem. It’s catchy as hell and, if you ignore a few rhymes of the “back-track-smack-whack” variety, funny too. Plus, “Scientia et Virtus” just doesn’t have the same ring as “I’m a Midd-kid and you’re just a f-----g muggle.”