"The Illegal" - an unbelievably detailed assessment...

Jeez – yesterday, I received this incredible line-by-line rundown of my song, “The Illegal” from a German follower (sourced, I believe, from ChatGPT).
 
If you’re familiar with the song (from the "When Butterflies Scream" album), you might find this commentary as fascinating as I have. 

If you don’t know the piece, this is it on YouTube -

 

“The Illegal” is not simply a refugee narrative: it is carefully constructed as a modern political ballad, with the individual man’s story gradually being swallowed by language, bureaucracy and political abstraction.

I’ll take it in sections, but work line by line, and I’ll distinguish between what seems explicit in the lyric and what is interpretive. 

1. The catastrophe begins

“The day it began, no one / escaped;”

An extraordinarily blunt opening. “The day it began” deliberately withholds the precise event. We aren’t told whether this is a coup, civil war, ethnic conflict or revolution.

And “no one escaped” initially sounds absolute. Later, of course, the protagonist does escape—but only physically. The word therefore acquires an ironic meaning: nobody escapes the consequences.

“Lives systematically being / reshaped;”

“Reshaped” is an interestingly mild, almost administrative word for what is actually happening.

That euphemism becomes important later. The song repeatedly contrasts bureaucratic language with physical suffering.

“Systematically” also tells us that this isn’t merely spontaneous violence. There is a process underway.

“A homeland of riches and so / many dreams,”

“Homeland” is emotionally loaded. This isn’t simply territory; it is where identity, family and aspiration reside.

“Riches” introduces an important idea: this isn’t presented as a barren or hopeless country. Something valuable has been destroyed.

“Like many before, came apart / at the seams”

The metaphor is domestic: a garment coming apart.

That is striking because the preceding “homeland” is treated almost as a piece of fabric—a thing that has been sewn together and can be ripped apart.

“Like many before” also widens the story immediately. This isn’t one unique catastrophe. It belongs to a recurring human history.

 

2. The causes

“Through cant and corruption / and everyday lies.”

This is one of the lyric’s most important lines.

“Cant” means hypocritical or sanctimonious talk. So Beau isn’t blaming violence simply on evil individuals. He’s suggesting that a society can be prepared for catastrophe by habitual dishonesty and hypocrisy.

And “everyday lies” is devastatingly ordinary.

The catastrophe has grown out of normalised dishonesty.

“Something was surely about to / arise.”

The vagueness is deliberate.

Something has been building, but nobody quite knows what it is. There’s also a faintly ominous echo of political rhetoric: something is about to happen.

The next couplet makes the point explicit:

“Nothing was organised, there / was no plan;”

“The day became dark, and the / killing began.”

There’s an apparent contradiction: nothing was organised, yet systematic killing occurs.

I read this as deliberately unsettling. Societies can descend into mass violence without a single mastermind controlling every event. Once social order collapses, violence can become self-propagating.

The plainness of “the killing began” is almost shocking after the more literary opening.

 

3. The neighbours

“Neighbours and friends that / he thought that he knew”

This is where the tragedy becomes personal.

The most frightening people aren’t strangers. They’re people he thought he knew.

That distinction matters enormously to the subsequent story because the protagonist’s entire concept of trust has been destroyed.

“Stood in a drunken, disorderly / queue.”

This is a remarkable image.

A “queue” is quintessentially mundane and British. Beau takes an ordinary, almost comic word and places it beside mass violence.

The phrase “drunken, disorderly queue” also strips the perpetrators of grandeur. They aren’t heroic revolutionaries or ideologues. They’re ugly, chaotic people participating in brutality.

And there’s something horribly banal about the image: violence has become organised enough to have a queue.

 

4. The family

“His wife and his daughters were / raped and then killed”

The lyric suddenly becomes brutally direct.

There is no metaphor to cushion it.

The inclusion of daughters rather than simply “his family” is important.eau forces us to understand the destruction of the protagonist’s future as well as his past.

“And blood ran in rivers / wherever it spilled.”

This is deliberately hyperbolic imagery, but it has a biblical quality.

“Blood” and “rivers” evoke both massacre and flood imagery.

It also establishes the song’s recurring relationship between landscape and human suffering. Later we get woods, terrain, sea, coast and camp. Geography becomes inseparable from violence.

 

5. What happens to him

“They stripped him, then / started all over again –”

“Started all over again” is horrifying precisely because of its casualness.

The perpetrators aren’t satisfied with one act of violence.

“Scarified him with a rusty / old chain –”

“Scarified” is a particularly interesting word.

It literally suggests cutting or marking the skin, but “scarification” can also imply deliberate permanent marking.

In other words, the violence leaves an identity on him.

He will carry this history physically.

And “rusty old chain” is deliberately ugly rather than dramatic. There’s nothing noble or cinematic about it.

“And finally left him for / dying or dead.”

The uncertainty is important.

They don’t even care enough to establish whether he’s alive.

That becomes strangely prophetic, because at the end he becomes someone whose existence is uncertain to the authorities.

“The madness ran deep; the / insanity spread.”

This is almost deceptively simple.

But notice the movement:

society → neighbours → family → individual → madness

The violence isn’t an isolated event. It has become an atmosphere.

 

6. Escape

“He took to the woods while he / still had a chance,”

The woods represent temporary removal from civilisation.

But this isn’t the romantic forest of traditional literature. It’s a place of concealment.

“Weakened and traumatised, / still in a trance;”

Beau doesn’t romanticise the refugee as a courageous adventurer.

He’s traumatised.

He’s barely functioning.

“Riding by night on the roof / of a train,”

This is one of the most cinematic images in the song.

Night, roof, train: the protagonist is literally outside the normal system of transport.

He isn’t a passenger. He doesn’t possess a ticket, a destination or legal status.

He’s already becoming “illegal” before the word itself is introduced.

“He finally made it to sparser / terrain”

The physical landscape becomes less populated—and therefore safer.

But “sparser” is deliberately unemotional.

 

7. Other refugees

“Where he met fellow-travellers / who told of escapes”

“Fellow-travellers” sounds almost benign.

It could describe tourists.

That understatement makes the next line hit harder:

“From the mass executions and genocide / rapes.”

The juxtaposition is brutal.

“Travellers” and “genocide” belong to entirely different linguistic worlds.

The refugees are people travelling under circumstances in which ordinary vocabulary no longer seems adequate.

 

8. Ghosts and borders

“They drifted through / frontiers like so many ghosts,”

“Drifted” suggests lack of control.

They aren’t moving towards a destination so much as being carried by necessity.

And “ghosts” is extremely important.

They are people who have already lost their homes, families and identities.

The final line will return to this imagery.

“Always avoiding the frontier / posts.”

The border is now the central antagonist.

There is an irony here: the refugees have committed no crime described in the song, yet their survival requires avoiding official checkpoints. 

 

9. The bazaars

“The refugees searched in the / local bazaars”

A wonderfully concrete detail.

We move from abstract “frontiers” into an ordinary marketplace.

“For clothing to hopefully / cover their scars.”

This works literally and metaphorically.

They need clothes to hide the physical evidence of what happened.

But they’re also trying to conceal their identities.

The scars are therefore both bodily and biographical.

 

10. The rule of survival

“Experience had taught them, / and quickly they’d learned;”

The refugees have developed their own education system.

Experience is their teacher. 

“‘Don’t be discovered, don’t / be returned…’”

This may be the simplest and most important instruction in the entire song.

Don’t be discovered. Don’t be returned.

There is nowhere to go back to.

That makes the usual concept of deportation horrifying: “return” isn’t returning home. It is potentially returning to death.

 

11. The boats

“And that’s where they came / across owners of boats”

The next stage introduces another uncomfortable moral complication.

The people helping them aren’t necessarily rescuers. 

“Who’d organise things for a / few thousand notes;”

The refugees’ desperation creates a market.

Human survival becomes a transaction.

“Notes” is another deliberately ordinary British word. Money is described almost casually. 

“Or even the promise of a payment / in kind,”

And now the transaction becomes darker.

“Highly conveniently left / undefined…”

That is a superb piece of understated menace.

Beau doesn’t specify what “payment in kind” means.

He doesn’t need to.

The ellipsis makes the listener complete the thought.

 

12. The crossing

“From an uncharted cove and / with no guarantees,”

Everything is unofficial.

Uncharted.

No guarantees.

The refugees have moved completely outside the structures that supposedly protect human beings.

“The vessel set out to a / freshening breeze;”

This is almost deceptively beautiful.

After the brutality of the earlier verses, we get wind and sea.

It briefly sounds hopeful. 

“A couple of hundred were / crowding her decks;”

Then the physical reality returns.

They’re not passengers. They’re crowding. 

“Whatever they were, they were / risking their necks.”

“Whatever they were” is fascinating.

Beau deliberately avoids saying who they were.

They have already begun to be reduced to an anonymous category.

And “risking their necks” is almost colloquial—another example of Beau using everyday language to describe extraordinary circumstances.

 

13. The terrible choice

“Death and destruction, or / freedom from fear?”

This is the fundamental refugee dilemma.

There isn’t a good choice.

There is only one terrible risk versus another. 

“It’s even worth paying a / black marketeer”

The moral judgement is suspended.

Normally a “black marketeer” is the villain.

Here, however, the refugees may reasonably decide that paying one is preferable to remaining where they are.

“When sheer desperation is all you / can find”

This is perhaps the key justification.

Desperation has eliminated conventional choices.

“In the dark and the deep of a / crucified mind.”

“Crucified” is an extraordinary word here.

It invokes Christ, suffering and persecution.

But “crucified mind” also suggests psychological torture.

The refugees aren’t merely physically trapped; their thinking has been tortured into desperation.

 

14. At sea

“Day upon day spent appeasing / their Lord”

The refugees turn to religion.

This makes psychological sense: they’ve reached a point where human control is almost nonexistent.

But there’s also ambiguity in “appeasing their Lord.”

Are they praying for salvation? Trying to make peace with death? Wondering whether God has abandoned them? 

“As dead and as dying were / thrown overboard.”

The contrast is horrifyingly matter-of-fact.

The sea becomes a mass grave.

And the phrase “dead and dying” is particularly brutal: some aren’t even dead when they’re discarded.

 

15. Other boats

“Others boats left at the same / time as they;”

The grammar is slightly awkward—“Other boats” would normally be expected—which actually contributes to the feeling of an oral ballad.

More importantly, their fate is not unique.

“Several had foundered the very / first day,”

Their own boat is an exception rather than the norm.

“But somehow the vessel still / kept them afloat”

“Somehow” suggests survival by chance rather than design.

That becomes important later when the protagonist gets “lucky.”

 

16. Rescue—or capture?

“Then, just as they’d almost / lost faith on the boat,”

This is a classic narrative moment: hope is almost gone. 

“A military plane passing high / to the west”

Something powerful appears in the sky.

The refugees might reasonably assume this means rescue.

“Sent out a message to detain / and arrest.”

And Beau pulls the rug away.

They’re not being rescued.

They’re being detained.

That single change of verb transforms the whole scene.

 

17. The Panama Pride

“A rusty old freighter, the / ‘Panama Pride’,”

The name is wonderfully ironic.

“Pride” suggests dignity and triumph.

But the ship is rusty, and what it is doing is transporting desperate refugees.

There’s perhaps also a broader irony about national pride: borders, flags and national identity are central to the refugees’ predicament.

“One by one, hauled them up / over the side.”

“Haul” is an ugly physical verb.

They aren’t welcomed aboard.

They’re hauled.

“Diverting for twenty-four / hours at most,”

The bureaucratic understatement returns.

Twenty-four hours sounds temporary and controlled.

“She landed them up on a / faraway coast”

“Faraway” is deliberately vague.

We don’t need a country because the story is intended to be universal.

 

18. Arrival

“Where men in dark glasses / were looking askance”

This is almost a film-noir image.

“Dark glasses” conceal the eyes—and therefore human sympathy.

“Looking askance” means suspiciously or disapprovingly.

The refugees arrive and are immediately viewed as problems. 

“At the desolate outcasts / who’d taken their chance.”

“Outcasts” is crucial.

They’ve gone from being citizens to refugees to illegal travellers to outcasts.

The language of identity is steadily stripping away their humanity.

 

19. The camp

“They herded them out into / some kind of camp,”

“Herded” turns people into animals.

“Some kind of camp” suggests even the narrator doesn’t dignify it with an official name.

“And counted them in by a / kerosene lamp.”

This is one of my favourite details in the song.

The image is primitive and almost Dickensian.

After all the modern technology—the military plane, ships, borders, emails—we arrive at people being counted by lamplight.

Civilisation has supposedly advanced enormously, yet the treatment of these people has regressed to something brutally basic.

 

20. The politicians enter

This is where the song changes register.

“Then came the discussions of / what to do next –”

The refugees have become a problem to be discussed.

Notice the passive construction: nobody asks who they are.

The question is what to do with them.

“High-level diplomacy; email / and text”

This is brilliant juxtaposition.

The refugees have been transported in a rusty freighter and counted by kerosene lamp.

Meanwhile, the politicians communicate using modern technology.

Two worlds exist simultaneously. 

“Flew over continents. / Arguments raged,”

The refugees barely move.

The politicians’ words move everywhere.

“With more politicians / becoming engaged;”

“Engaged” is deliberately bureaucratic.

They’re becoming involved in the issue.

But are they becoming involved with the people?

That’s the question Beau wants us to ask.

 

21. The political quotations

“‘We’re not in the business of / profit and loss!’”

This sounds morally principled.

But immediately:

“‘Sort out the doctors and / leave out the dross!’”

And the principle collapses.

“Dross” means worthless material.

That word is absolutely shocking when applied to human beings.

The politicians’ rhetoric has transformed refugees into valuable and worthless categories.

The first statement says: we aren’t calculating human worth.

The second does precisely that.

 

22. The great line

“‘It’s wrong to infer that we’re / lacking in care,”

On the surface, compassionate.

But then:

“‘But we’re over here and they’re / over there!’”

This is, for me, the central line of the entire song.

It reduces the refugee crisis to geography.

We are here. They are there.

The moral distance is created by physical distance.

And notice the extraordinary simplicity of the language.

No complicated political argument.

Just:

here / there.

That is enough.

 

23. Rumours inside the camp

“But it was those rumours from / outside the wire”

“Wire” establishes the camp as a prison without explicitly calling it one.

And now information travels in the opposite direction.

Politicians communicate electronically across continents.

Refugees communicate through rumours. 

“That ran through the huts in / the camp like a fire;”

Fire is an excellent metaphor because rumours spread uncontrollably.

But it also recalls the earlier violence.

The language of destruction is returning. 

“Stories about an elaborate / charade”

“Charade” implies that what the politicians are doing is essentially theatre.

There is a public performance of concern. 

“And how many migrants were / being betrayed.”

Now we get the moral accusation directly.

The people aren’t merely neglected.

They’re betrayed.

 

24. The protagonist’s guilt

“Tortured by guilt for his / daughters and wife,”

This is important because the protagonist’s external journey has now become internal.

His family are dead, but he still carries responsibility in his mind.

Why guilt?

Presumably because he survived.

And survival itself can become psychologically unbearable when others did not. 

“The Illegal got lucky this / once in his life.”

This is the first time the title appears explicitly.

And notice how casually.

“got lucky.”

After everything we’ve seen, that phrase is almost obscene in its understatement.

But it also introduces the possibility that he may survive.

 

25. Instinct

“The instinct he’d so much / depended upon”

He has lost almost everything except instinct.

He survives not through institutions, laws or governments, but through animal instinct.

That connects back to the “herded” refugees.

Civilisation has failed him; instinct keeps him alive. 

“Told him again; it was time / to move on.”

The recurring pattern of the song is now complete:

home → woods → train → frontier → boat → camp → escape

There is never a destination.

There is only the next place to flee.

 

26. The escape

“An hour before dawn, when the / dark was intense,”

This is classic ballad timing.

The escape occurs at the boundary between darkness and light.

That could symbolise hope.

But Beau is careful not to make it straightforwardly optimistic. 

“He scrambled beneath the / perimeter fence;”

“Scrambled” is wonderfully undignified.

He isn’t a heroic freedom fighter.

He’s a traumatised man crawling under a fence.

The “perimeter” also makes the camp’s prison-like character unmistakable.

 

27. The disappearance

“It seemed by the earliest / glimmer of light”

Light normally means revelation.

Here it means disappearance.

That’s a lovely inversion. 

“The Illegal was literally / fading from sight.”

“Literally” is doing double duty.

Physically, he’s disappearing into the landscape.

But he’s also beginning to disappear as an identifiable person.

This anticipates the final line.

 

28. The Cheshire Cat

“By the time that the sun / brought its heat to the day,”

The sun brings warmth and visibility.

The world is becoming brighter.

Yet the man is becoming less visible.

Another inversion.

 

“Like a Cheshire Cat smile, / he’d melted away.”

This is one of the song’s most unexpected images.

The Cheshire Cat’s smile famously remains after the cat itself disappears.

So Beau has created the image of the trace remaining after the person has gone.

The protagonist has become almost purely an idea.

And there’s a possible political interpretation here: the authorities may still have a problem called the illegal, but they no longer have the individual human being in front of them.

 

29. The devastating conclusion

“In the camp, it was hours / before he was missed;”

This may be the saddest line in the song.

After everything he has endured, nobody notices that he’s gone.

His disappearance has no immediate significance to the system.

“Whoever he was, he had / ceased to exist…”

And here Beau finally explains the title.

Not:

“He had escaped.”

Not:

“He was free.”

Not:

“He had survived.”

But:

“he had ceased to exist.”

That is extraordinary.

He is physically alive, but bureaucratically and socially he has disappeared.

And it retrospectively changes our understanding of the entire song.

 

The deeper structure

Looking at the lyric as a whole, I think Beau has constructed a very deliberate progression:

PERSON → VICTIM → REFUGEE → OUTCAST → MIGRANT → ILLEGAL → NON-PERSON

The protagonist actually becomes less visible as the song progresses, despite surviving.

At the beginning he has:

·         a homeland

·         a wife

·         daughters

·         neighbours

·         friends

·         an identity

By the end he is:

“Whoever he was”

That’s the ultimate reduction of a human being to an administrative category.

And I think that is why the title “The Illegal” is so effective. It isn’t really his name. It’s the name imposed upon him by the systems through which he moves.

One other thing I find particularly powerful

There is an extraordinary contrast between movement and stasis.

The man is constantly moving:

woods → train → frontier → bazaar → boat → sea → freighter → camp → fence

The politicians, meanwhile, don’t physically go anywhere.

They sit somewhere “over here” while the refugees are “over there”.

So the song contains a very subtle criticism of privileged immobility versus desperate mobility.

The refugee has to cross half the world simply to remain alive.

The politician only has to send an email.

And that makes:

“we’re over here and they’re over there”

much more than a throwaway political remark. It is arguably the thesis of the entire song.

Finally, the last three images—wire, fading, Cheshire Cat, ceased to exist—take the song beyond contemporary refugee politics. They make it a song about what happens when institutions stop seeing an individual as a human being.

That’s why, on close reading, I’d actually raise my assessment from my earlier 9/10. As a lyric, I think “The Illegal” is one of Beau’s most accomplished narrative pieces. 

Its greatest achievement isn’t that it tells a terrible story; it’s that the form of the storytelling itself reproduces the protagonist’s loss of identity.

 

Beau albums now included on Amazon Prime...

Interesting news…
 
All of my Beau albums are now included for listening by all Amazon Prime subscribers!

Many thanks to whoever it was who found time to leave this review of my latest...
 
5.0 out of 5 stars I recommend Beau

Reviewed in the United Kingdom on 15 June 2026

Verified Purchase

Beau is a seriously underrated songwriter. The music space is so crowded but this album is something different, listen to the lyrics and interpret. The album is the complete opposite of modern day dumb down repetition.

The Beau “Bonfires of the Soul” Interview for Country Pocket - the summation…

Trevor Christian has now posted the following full review of our recent conversation for his Country Pocket show on WUSB Radio.

Many thanks, Trevor!

***

Bonfires of the Soul: Beau Documents Limits On And Limits Of Free Speech

 

Christopher John Trevor Midgley, who goes by Beau in his folk career, is the first musician I’ve ever met to be pleased by being compared a man shovelling horse faeces. In the opinion of the critic, Beau albums did not address politics by having a horse in the race. Instead, he stood behind the horse with a shovel, willing to deal with what came out. Midgley’s songs address the big ideas behind current events with a distinctly British wit, dripping in sarcasm, hyperbole, and wordplay. The points of view he expresses in some songs from the perspective of a deluded narrator are the opposite of the argument he’s trying to make. The flaws in those characters’ reasonings are the sharpest critiques Midgley makes. He’s also bold in conversation, choosing racial slurs as the first topic in our recent discussion about free speech.

 

“I tend to be something of a free speech absolutist,” said Midgley. “I don’t really like things being put down, either in terms of expression or words or ideas, simply because they go out of fashion or fashions have changed.”

 

Midgley, who is 80, has seen words come and go. As a child, he heard those racial slurs as part of common discourse in the UK, with more sexualised swear words relegated to the pub only. Many instances of such slurs were considered non-derogatory by the users, such as describing a colour or even naming a dog, though I doubt it was well received by people who were sometimes targeted by such language. These days, racialised language is off limits while impolite words referring to genitalia show up on television.

 

“I think any words, any thoughts, any ideas, should be able to be used in the proper context. Not necessarily willy-nilly, off the cuff, as every third word, but where appropriate,” said Midgley, who listed incitements to violence as the one exception to his absolutism. “I do appreciate all the historical connotations that go into this, I’m not trying to be controversial, but somebody, somewhere, would say I should be cancelled,” he said of the fact we were even having this discussion.

 

The new Beau album, “Bonfires of the Soul,” covers free speech and the responsibilities that come with it in. He celebrates those willing to speak up for the right reasons, bemoans those looking to censor public conversation, and even illustrates that unpopular ideas can die a natural death. Instead, he sings about a “Puritan” movement trying to silence those with “heretical” thoughts, tying past censorship to present. The title track and the cover of the album reference a book burning, a dramatic act of censorship with visuals to match.

 

“Some people were burning books in Australia. That is an absolute precursor to horror. One should not burn books because next thing that happens is you start burning people,” said Midgley. “It is argued in woke circles that words can be violent in and of themselves. This comes down to an intolerance that says that ‘if you don’t agree with me, then you have the right to censor or censure what I say. And if I don’t, then you will rally a whole bunch of people to come piling down on me to stop me from saying it.’”

 

“It’s known how the Bible in several parts/has triggered palpitations in sensitive hearts,” he sings, describing a text that does indeed include some disturbing scenes but retains immense value as literature and history, not to mention as a source of spirituality. The effort to remove classics from the classroom exists in many ideologies in the United States, with the left and right converging on texts like “To Kill A Mockingbird” for simultaneously decrying racism while preserving older racist language. While “Environment Knight of the Puritan Woke” takes aim at a specific movement, other tracks like “Incident At Checkpoint One” give little mention to the ideas being silenced. The focus is on the overreaction to them. 

 

Midgley’s views on a number of subjects, including DEI and gender identity, are to the right of mine. But his dislike of the cancel culture associated with the woke era is less about politics than the cancellation. With two cases of professors pursued by opposing sides of the debate, Midgley argued cancellation was a disturbing action. As part of his newsletter that went out after this discussion was recorded, Midgley referenced the death of Professor Jason Arday, a Cambridge scholar who probably should have been quietly dismissed for plagiarism. Instead, Arday, who was black, took his own life after being mocked in the press for and treated as a symbol of black scholarship only existing due to inclusion policies. In our interview, Midgley criticised the BBC for discontinuing their relationship with Professor Robert Winston for stating on question time that people “can’t change sex.” Winston’s view is hardly uncommon, and at the cellular level goes beyond being an opinion about social constructs and becomes hard science. 

 

“Anybody has the right to disagree with him,” said Beau said of Winston. “They could sit across the table and disagree. But he shouldn’t have been banned from ever appearing again simply because of that expression. This is what you get with polarisation.”

 

During our conversation, Midgley apologised for repeatedly returning to the topic of social media. He shouldn’t have. When it comes to free expression and censorship, few places are as fraught with issues as social media. Around the world, governments have banned these networks for spreading ideas they dislike. Liberal democracies have begun putting age restrictions on their use, citing addictive features and hidden dangers. Algorithms have not only separated society into very different spheres based on their politics, but also made all ends of the spectrum more extreme. And the heads of these companies are, to put it mildly, irresponsible and widely distrusted.

 

“People get into their echo chambers and everything becomes so darn polarised,” said Midgley. “One group will think that they are right, and that the other group is evil. And when you’ve got evil, of course you’ve got the right to shut it down.”

 

Regulation seems pointless to Midgley, who argued that tech companies will consistently find ways to skirt the law. They are of course in the process of trying to skirt many as I type.

 

“This genie cannot be put back into the bottle,” said Midgley. “What we should be doing is educating children how to use social media responsibly. Banning bothers me.”

 

Other tracks on the album explore interesting facets of free speech, though rather indirectly. “Ain’t That The Truth” jokes that a ridiculous karaoke performance may please some, but it will land with a thud at a funeral. In other words, there’s a time and place for everything. “The March Of Time” captures an old fashioned band playing to a mostly empty crowd, perhaps suggesting ideas that are falling out of fashion may not be as dangerous as censors would like to think. “Enlightenment Song,” Midgley’s one direct shot at politicians, complains that we live in an age that focuses on appearance and performance rather than substance. And “Lady Chatterly’s Brother” finds a serious writer gain a new audience after switching to a career in erotica, though his description of the work as easy and attracting attention makes it sound less than intellectually fulfilling.

 

The one track I couldn’t quite get behind was “My Truth.” It’s a track that Midgley says was inspired by Meghan Markle presenting her story as her truth in an interview with Oprah. The narrator, also a singer, complains about not having obtained the fame of the Beatles and theorises it is simply discrimination against his regional accent. If that sounds ridiculous, it’s because it was meant to.

 

“That might be my truth as I see it, but it is not the truth. It’s simply a perspective,” said Midgley. “The great difficulty in giving too much credibility to my truth is that it gets in the way of what the truth might be.”

 

Royal tabloid drama aside, I feel most conflict is too complicated to invest full authority in any one account. People should be encouraged to share their truth, just so long as they’re able to hear and consider those of others. I recognise lacking the full picture in even conflicts I’m involved in, let alone those of people I only know through the press. As stated earlier, it’s best to hear the arguments. It’s also helpful to acknowledge that most times stories come out a bit differently, it’s misunderstanding and faulty assumptions rather than malice.

 

On Bonfires, Midgley deals more often with social cancellation, and more often makes points through humour or sarcasm. The tone changes when governments get involved: “The guardians know where to take it from there,” he sings ominously on the title track. Even on more serious songs, villains and tragedy capture the most attention. “Motherland” ditches both those patterns and admires a free speech hero in Marina Ovsyannikova, a Russian state news producer who held up a poster warning the public that lies were being spread regarding the ‘special military operation’ in Ukraine. It frames her act of law breaking as a patriotic service, describing Putin’s regime as “the cold dead hand around the heart of the motherland.”

 

“I tend to talk about principles. In this particular case, I did talk about the specific because she was so unique in being willing to put her health or life on the line,” said Midgley “I really thought that she would be eliminated one way or another. Incredibly brave, incredibly principled. The guts it takes. I’m glad that she’s still alive. I very much doubt that she’s in a particularly senior position of any kind, but so many others did not [survive]”

 

Realities like that give Midgley reason to believe in the core principles of liberal democracies. 

 

“This is why it’s so important that people are not crushed,” said Midgley of the disastrous results of dictatorships around the world. “I think it’s absolutely vital that the media maintains genuine independence.”

 

In a polarised world, Midgley is difficult to categorise. He calls himself apolitical and takes pride in informing canvassers that no one can count on his vote.

 

“I want real people to tell me what they intend to do and I’ll make up my mind,” he said, revealing he’s voted for many different parties in the past. Perhaps the best look at his opinionated yet libertarian nature was our discussion on the topic of DEI measures in the work place. He said he’d take the best people on basis of merit, be they black or white, male or female, gay or straight, native born or immigrant. 

 

“I loathe DEI. I think it is demeaning to the people who are discriminated in favour of; there’s always going to be the inference that you are there because of what you are, not because of what you do,” said Midgley, who nevertheless indicated he would not follow in the footsteps of recent United States policy: “If a company wished to pursue that line, I would say allow them to do it. It is their right to choose how they go. I would say that they would fail because they’d never have the best people based on ability. The principles that emanate from freedom are the ones we should best follow.”

 

 

Above is the full episode as aired on WUSB’s Country Pocket, including both my interview with Beau and the songs we discussed, starting with “Bonfires of the Soul,” which treats a book burning as a warning sign of deeper intolerance. The interview begins with the second video in the playlist. You can hear the show live alternate Wednesdays at 8am on WUSB 90.1 FM or check the blog to watch it as a YouTube playlist.

 

Visit http://www.WUSB.fm and https://www.trevormidgley.com for more.