I had a friend text me a few weeks back asking “Pete, what do you think of Sea Shanty TikTok?” As a longtime lover of the shanty, the question was well warranted. I’ve gotten some version of this meme sent to me, unironically, every year for four years straight during Spotify Wrapped season. So what happens when your niche interests explode into internet superstardom? Let’s explore the journey of the humble shanty.
For the snobs out there, I’ll get it out of the way quickly. A Sea Shanty is a specifically delineated genre of work song, performed by crew members of merchant sailing vessels during the mid- to late-19th century. A lot of the songs these days referred to as “Shanties” are, in-fact, not really shanties at all, but instead varied folk songs of the sea subsumed into the genre since the early 20th century. Great, now you can be that guy at the party.
While modern day representations of shanties tend to place them in a much earlier context – looking at you Black Flag – the rise of the shanty came because of a few important developments. After the end of the War of 1812 (shout out Madison), the Atlantic shipping lanes enjoyed an unprecedented stretch of peaceful seas. This led to a boom in shipping, with the Packet Ships hauling cargo and passengers even starting to offer fixed schedule service. This boom also led to the need of coordinated and disciplined crews. Here enters the humble shanty.
The shanty was a rough, rhythmic work song employed by crew members to complete certain tasks like hauling the topsail yards, raising anchor, or operating water pumps. In rough weather, with blustering gales and driving rain making it hard to coordinate, the shanty ensured crew-mates could work together effectively. Inspired by – and in many cases directly stolen from – slave workers and stevedores in places like Mobile Bay, shanties were loose and in many cases improvisational adaptations of popular folk songs.
But these real shanties were gone almost as soon as they came. The rise of steam ships in the late 19th century made crews – and shanties – obsolete. By the 1920s, shanties were more or less dead in the water. Since then, the genre has been driven forward by that most potent force: nostalgia.
Old sailors shared their songs in their local seaside communities, historians pored through collections and rare recordings, and folk artists created new interpretations. For the past 100 years or so, shanties have looked back to go forward, growing in fits and spurts. Salty sea dogs like Stan Hugill came to define the genre, with legends like Stan Rogers and Luke Kelly adding their own flair. The field expanded to cover not just the work songs, but the folk tunes of the sea-faring towns that thrived during the age of sail.
So the genre has moved on since the hey-day of work songs, looking back on the glory days with the rose tinted glasses of nostalgia. But nostalgia for what, exactly? The shanty thrived during the golden age of imperialism, as western nations dug their fingers into their newly stolen colonies, extracting the wealth of the land and leaving devastation in their paths. Not even the sailors were spared. With little promise of a better life at home, sailors worked grueling hours in dangerous, cramped conditions on board ships for weeks at a time. Poor food, cruel bosses, low pay – the life of a sailor was far from the romanticized picture that we attribute to the life at sea.
But the more you listen to shanties, the more expansive the view of this life you get. Shanties paint an interesting picture, tackling the gruff existence on the sea, but also reveling in the bawdy, the aspirational. A certain gallows humor pervades these songs, acknowledging that, though death may be around the corner, that there could also be wenching and drinking.
To be honest, the longing sentimentality and rousing irreverence of shanties kind of reminds me of Bruce Springsteen. In his first album, Greetings from Asbury Park, N.J., Bruce shows off this contrast through his fourth and fifth tracks. “Does This Bus Stop at 82nd Street” is a jaunty two minute tour through uptown Manhattan, where “Tainted women in VistaVision perform for out-of-state kids at the late show” (keep up). This track is immediately followed by “Lost in the Flood,” a gutting, piano driven dirge exploring loss and grief through sparse vignettes. Ah yes, the duality of man.
Throughout his career Bruce has mixed levity and gravity, usually through the lens of nostalgia. I mean, the guy literally wrote “Glory Days,” subtly poking fun at the deceit in our personal remembrances and the contrast between our cheery view of the past and our current circumstances. But throughout his career, Bruce has had some serious points to make. Even as he painted his own portrait of Americana, he didn’t shy away from discussing the gross inequities of our country, from the systemic neglect of our veterans, to the disastrous response to Hurricane Katrina, to racist police.
The way these critiques have played out can give us a better perspective on the humble shanty. Like, look at “Born in the USA.” One of the most potent anti-American protest songs now lives on as a pro-American anthem. If you bash our country to a rocking guitar riff, even Pat Buchanan will bop along. The text of the song has lost its context. So too with shanties. They have journeyed from work songs, to complaints of poor treatment and pay on the job, to laments for a lost sense of culture and community, to quaint ballads to sing with your friends while you get drunk and pretend like you are a pirate.
So what do I think about this new chapter of shanties? To be honest, it’s great. Sure, they’ve lost their context. But we are creating a new one – all of us – right now. Sharing these songs during this time apart brings people together. I’m looking forward to being at a bar (remember those?) and belting out the first few lines of Leave her Johnny, drinking rum, and forgetting about the crushing inequalities generated by Victorian-era maritime trade. Just like those brave sailors intended.
For The Love 