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Tough men, arm in arm, singing and crying songs of praise and devotion to ancestors or about invaders recently or long ago; this is how games begin at the Rugby World Cup. Most of the songs are hymns or military marches, but there are Latins in attendance, thus, we hear epic operatic arias, too.
In one case, we hear a languid poem 10 centuries old, but most are fairly new nation-building devices, with rousing ends designed to lift the yeoman’s eyes to a new and glorious future of enriching the more powerful state.
This tournament has drawn me to study the participants’ anthems. In particular, I have looked at the words that dot the lyrics, and noticed how they relate to the teams’ rugby doctrines and styles.
Romania shout “Wake up!”. I like that. I know they are singing about a rise from the awful existential slumber and gloom that tyranny imposes on subject peoples. But in a rugby context, it’s so important to be switched on after the fugue-like state the crowds and circumstance and anthems may put you in, as a young or novice player.
Australia is young, as a nation, and I suppose it is more free than most countries, if we are talking about free speech, freedom of assembly, freedom to contract or open a business, or free spaces. Maybe it’s because nothing in Australia’s anthem is especially bloody or angry, but I find it a bit more reasonable and therefore less inspiring than some other anthems.
It’s joyful, rather than passionate. But I do give the Wallabies bonus points for having the word “girt” in their song, and perhaps this is the right song for Wallabies rugby: free of old doctrines or ancient dogma about a proper blindside with a proper openside with a proper eighthman and a proper scrum. I do like the “advance” part, and Australia has advanced faster than almost any country I can think of in a very short time.
Italy is young, too. We all think of Rome, but really, the modern version of Italy is a 19th century aggregation; with parochial rivalries that put the Brumbies, Reds and Tahs feud to shame. A Venetian found very little common cause with a Sicilian in 1860, but here they are with a country and very intriguing anthem.
They sing of being “brothers” who are “ready to die”. That’s not a bad way to look at rugby, I suppose (the brotherhood part), but dying is a trifle overwrought and might have contributed to Italy’s morbid results in the Six Nations.
Still, I like that they have a sense of anger in their anthem: they claim to have been “derided” for a long time. And the “Si!” at the end is fun. My basic problem with the Italian anthem is they could have done far better with the actual tune, seeing as they have created some of the world’s great operas. In fact, the Italians may replace their anthem. Maybe with each new government, a new anthem?
Speaking of opera, the Uruguayan anthem is finely composed. It is a wonderful piece of music, and the longest anthem (at five minutes) in the competition. One of their themes is to fulfil (compris in Spanish), and they place this in a question “our country or the grave?”.
Rugby is opera (how else to explain David Pocock’s agonised pleas to the adjudicators, or the frilly uniforms of the referees?). Uruguay’s rugby prowess has not yet caught up to its anthem, but maybe soon.
Argentina also uses the Latin American operatic epic style, but has erased much of the overtly anti-Spanish sentiment. The key to the Pumas’ presentation is the four “Saluds!” in a row, which allow for an outpouring of passion and tears. This stately anthem also uses a nice phrase, “the noise of broken chairs”, which I believe refers to the sound of opposing scrums fractured by the Puma pack.
Using enmity towards another nation or occupier is one of the key reasons for an anthem. England’s official anthem is very anti-Scottish, really. Yes, it’s on the surface about saving the life and happiness of a very nice older and very wealthy English lady. But the “knavish” Jacobins appear to be the real foe. England plays best when their pack is snarling and proud. They always sing their lungs out, and look slightly drunk afterwards.
The Scots aren’t even allowed to have an anthem; they signed a deal with the English and that’s what happens when you sign deals with the English. But they have an unofficial (Jacobite?) 1965-vintage folk band ditty about flowers, and then repeat four times that the English king should go “homeward” and “think again”. I like the subtlety of that sledge, but really, they should sing how they really feel. Because I sometimes get the sense that the Scots have lost during their anthem.
For instance, another anti-English anthem, the Star-Spangled Banner, written during the English counter-revolution of 1812, throws in “rockets”, “ramparts” and “bombs”. America has better songs about itself (“America the Beautiful” is beautiful), but anthems have to rouse some emotion, preferably against something. In rugby, the Eagles need less bombs and rockets and more of a stable scrum.
Wales rises above petty English-bashing (and their Prince is the son of the older woman the English fight to save, so there’s some Oedipal complexity here) and sing about ‘old’ things. Old land, old poets, old muses, and old language. Victor Matfield should emigrate to Wales; he’d be the youngster.
But the Welsh can sing, I think their fans and players are the best, most harmonious singers. On the teamsheet, along with forwards and backs, the Welsh have notations for bass, tenor, and mezzo-soprano (Alun Wyn Jones sings falsetto). And Warren Gatland’s game plan is very, very old.
Georgia’s anthem was new to me. It’s new to everyone, as it was written in 2004. They’ve had lots of anthems, because lots of geopolitical nightmares have occurred in the Caucasus. The key word in their operatic anthem is “icon”. Their captain, the brave No.8 who defeated Tonga almost alone, is my iconic figure of the 2015 tournament, thus far.
Some anthems navigate tricky political divides. Ireland may only have a couple of Ulstermen in their side at any one time, but they still cannot be too nationalistic in their song, since they’re not one nation. So the Irish make a “call” and sing of “come the day, come the hour”. I like that very much, and it’s usually sung with great zest, just as O’Brien and O’Connell and O’Everyone play.
To solve their multicultural divides, Canada, New Zealand, and South Africa go bilingual (or in South Africa’s case, quintilingual). I hope that is okay with the moderators. Canadians sing about the “True North”, which I like. Embrace the compass. But their song was written in French, and still sung in either. The Canadian anthem uses the word “guard” three times, and this is key in rugby. You cannot win a lot of games giving up 30 points.
New Zealand’s first Maori verse is a prayer, as is the English verse; even though I don’t think of Kiwis as especially religious. I do like that the Kiwis bust a rhyme in their anthem (“feet, meet, entreat and land, star, war, afar, land) and that they go ahead and talk about love. More significantly for their rugby fortunes, New Zealand exalts their lack of “dissension” and “corruption”. Oh how South Africa would love to enjoy that state! (I will note here that the least corrupt nations seem to be the least religious.)
South African players singing all the anthem have to use five languages; a world record. Some of the music and metre in the various parts is quite different. I like that the anthem speaks of “cliffs, seas, skies” and has the concept of “protection”.
I like to live on a cliff on the sea and watch the sunset in a highly protected neighbourhood. The anthem is indicative: South Africa is still trying to decide what kind of rugby to play (or if rugby is a societal good, or just a football to punt around for political purposes), but in the end, the Boks will revert to rock hard force with some speed on the sides, and find some sort of harmony. (I pray.)
The Namibians sing of being brave. They had to be to face New Zealand with eight amateurs in their ranks, and they stood tall. Faith is part of many anthems. There are simple hymns, the Tongans sing a strong ode to their pillar, their god. It’s a clear, straightforward call to faith, and this is essentially how they play their rugby: a belief, true and devoid of irony. My understanding is that the South Pacific island culture is a devout one; and this is how their song sounds to me.
Samoa fastens their eyes on a “crown”. Their crown is mentioned four times in a short anthem. In a rugby sense, this could be seen as how a Samoan ballcarrier or tackler positions his head. Have you ever seen a Samoan tackler shy away from contact, or hide from responsibility? But this is also a call – a lament perhaps – for authority that is wise. How good could Samoa yet be; if aligned?
Fiji sings about an end to immorality, which should please the referees. They also beseech a blessing. How about not being in the Pool of Death?
And now let’s contrast the bloodiest anthem of all, La Marseillaise, and Japan’s contemplative little poem from 800 CE. The French sing of taking up arms, cutting throats, bloody battles, impure blood, and more blood. The key to this anthem is tempo; as it is for the French rugby team. It’s a march, and when sung briskly, it’s very fine and good. A real classic.
Japan sings of a tiny stone, with grass, growing into a massive rock. The music is reminiscent of an epic film score. And that is Round 1, in Brighton, in a few words.
Join The Roar rugby editor Christy Doran, former Wallaby Matt Toomua and a cast of regular and special guests as they look at the biggest issues in the game on The Roar Rugby Podcast. If you’re looking for great odds on the next game check out Aussie bookmaker PlayUp. Chances are you’re about to lose. Set a deposit limit.